


All At Sea

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sexual Tension, Very much AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DI Richard Poole is sent from London to Southampton to investigate a suspicious death on a cruise ship.</p><p>This is completely AU, none of the events in the show have happened before this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another plot bunny has taken over my brain. At least this one is fluffy. I learned recently that 16 members of the Hampshire Constabulary were sworn in as Bermuda police officers so that they could conduct investigations of crimes on Bermuda-registered ships. (Cunard and P&O register their ships in Bermuda and sail out of Southampton, so it makes sense to do this with Hampshire) There is talk of extending this program to the Bahamas and other countries where many ships are registered. In my story, the connection with the Bahamas already exists. The _Ile Marie_ is a fictional ship, registered in the Bahamas.

“Poole!”

Detective Inspector Richard Poole looked up sharply at the sound of his boss’s voice. 

“Sir?”

Superintendent Robert Wells approached Richard’s desk and asked, “Remember when you were sworn in as a Bahamian police officer?”

“Yes.”

“Well, your credentials are about to be used.”

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t quite—”

“Ooh!” called another detective, “You’re getting transferred to the Bahamas!”

“Factor fifty, Poole,” said another. “And plenty of it.”

“Lucky dog!” said a third.

A glare from the gov silenced the catcalls.

“There’s been a suspicious death on a ship, the _Ile Marie,_ registered in the Bahamas. The victim was English, so you’re being sent to investigate.”

“Can’t one of the Hampshire officers handle this?”

“No. The Iles de Mer line uses Dover, not Soton. The victim was on the staff of a cabinet minister. Very sensitive case, so they want someone from the Met. And that’s you. The port call for passengers is being cancelled, but they will be taking embarking passengers onto the ship. The murder happened some time last night, after they left Le Havre. Could take a few days, so pack what you need. I want you on the 11:10 train out of St. Pancras.” The superintendent handed Richard an e-ticket and a few computer printouts. He looked around the room. “What are you lot staring at? Get back to work. Poole, go pack. Don’t forget your passport.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard’s disinterest in clothing worked in his favor. Dressing plainly meant everything went with everything else. So he grabbed a couple of shirts, ties, some underpants and socks and stuffed them into a small suitcase. He collected what he needed from his bathroom, found the chargers for his mobile and laptop and added them to the case. He took his passport out of his desk, although he didn’t see why his police credentials wouldn’t be sufficient identification, and left for the train station.

He used his time on the train to learn what he could about the ship. The cruise had sailed out of Le Havre, was calling at Dover, and then sailing across the Atlantic, calling on a Caribbean island or two, then ending in Miami. He wondered how long he could have the ship held in port while he investigated. Surely the cruise line would not be happy with delays. Richard frowned; he hated it when people rushed his investigation.

At the Dover station, he took a minute to get some extra money from a cash machine, then walked outside, where he saw a police car. As he approached the car, a young officer got out.

“Inspector Poole?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Officer Smith. I’ll drive you to the port.”

“Thank you.” Richard got in the car and asked, “So what do we know so far?”

“Just that the a man was found dead in a stairwell around 3 AM. Because he’s something to do with the government, everyone is on high alert. The man's boss wanted MI-5, MI-6, Interpol and everyone up to but not including the UN to investigate.”

“I must be a disappointment then.”

“They said that you’re the only one who’s a Bahamian cop, sir. Um, pardon the impertinence, but you don’t sound like you’re from the Caribbean.”

“I’m not. I’m part of a group of officers, mostly from Hampshire, who have been sworn in as officers from countries where ships are flagged. So far, I’m Bermudian and Bahamian. Lord knows what country I’ll be connected with next.”


	2. Chapter 2

Security Officer Camille Bordey watched her boss strut around the cruise terminal. He smiled and nodded at passengers as if he were the Captain himself. Since most passengers couldn’t tell one officer from another, they probably did think he was the Captain. Chief Security Officer Selwyn Patterson was very good at his job, balancing the need to keep passengers safe with the need to let them enjoy their holiday, and always keeping in mind the importance of good public relations. Camille knew he was concerned because the death took place on his watch, as the saying goes. 

Camille was getting annoyed. As his second in command, she had accompanied Patterson to the cruise terminal when he asked her to. The man often _asked,_ but in reality, his asking was an order. They didn’t both need to be here to greet some London detective. They didn’t need some London detective at all. She and the other security officers could investigate the death. She had been a police detective before she decided to take a position with a cruise line and “see the world.”

She turned when Patterson approached. Despite his imposing height, he was good at showing up unexpectedly. In her less charitable moments, Camille called it “sneaking up on people.” Over the two years she’d worked with Patterson, she had become adept at sensing his approach and was seldom taken by surprise.

“He’s late,” she said.

“Just traffic,” said Patterson calmly. “Cars get backed up.”

“I thought they sent a panda car car to pick him up. Don’t tell me they had to get in the line with the limos and taxis for luggage drop off!”

“Patience, Bordey. He’ll be here soon. Ah, that must be him now.” Patterson pointed to the man getting out of a police car. A young officer removed a suitcase from the trunk, saluted, and got back into the car. 

Richard looked around, confused. He turned to ask the officer a question, but the car had already pulled away. Passengers were streaming into the building, but there was no ship in sight. Had he rushed here only to find that the ship was delayed? Two people in what appeared to be officers’ uniforms approached him.

“Are you from the cruise line?” he asked.

“Yes. I am Chief Security Officer Selwyn Patterson and this is Senior Security Officer Camille Bordey.”

“Detective Insepctor Richard Poole.” Richard took out his badge and showed it to them.

“Pleased to meet you, Inspector,” said Patterson.

“I thought the ship was going to be here. Is it late?”

“She,” said Camille. “A ship is referred to as _she,_ not _it_.”

“I thought only old sailing ships were _shes._ ”

“No, Inspector, we still say _she,”_ Patterson replied with a smile. “They say it’s because there’s always a bustle around her, it takes a lot of paint to make her good-looking, and it takes an experienced man to handle her correctly.”

Camille rolled her eyes. Then she said, pointing beyond the pier, “To answer your question, Inspector, _she_ is at anchor. The port call was cancelled in order to keep passengers on board. We’ve told them that there were mechanical problems at the pier. As far as we know, the only people who are aware of the death are his family, the crew member who found him, the security team, the ship’s doctor, and the Captain.”

“And the killer,” Richard added.

“Yes, of course,” she replied tightly. 

“How am I to investigate if I’m here and, ahem, _she_ is out there?”

“There’s a tender waiting for us,” said Patterson. “We’ll be riding with a load of incoming luggage so as to avoid being overheard by passengers.”

“Right. Um, where can I stash my case? I was old I might be here a few days. Has anyone arranged for a place for me to stay?”

“You won’t be staying in Dover, Inspector,” said Patterson. “You’ll be sailing with us.”

“Excuse me? I don’t think I—”

“The ship needs to stay on schedule, Inspector. You can’t hold us here while you investigate from shore.”

“But I’m not prepared for ten days on a ship. I was told just a few days. I need a land base of operation.”

“I’m afraid the ship must be your base of operation. If you need personal incidentals, there are shops on board. You were told to bring your passport, were you not?”

“Yes, I have my passport.”

“Then you’re ready to go.” Patterson smiled. Camille recognized her boss’s _this discussion is closed_ smile, but Richard did not, so he continued to argue.

“And what about forensics, and an autopsy? That can’t be handled on the ship. As it is, the crime scene, if it was a crime, is older than I’d like, and not secure.”

“Excuse me, Inspector,” Camille cut in. “But the scene most definitely is secure. I have that stairwell closed and guarded. The body had to be moved, of course, but we took photographs.”

“How many people have contaminated the scene?”

Camille was having trouble keeping her composure. “We do know how to handle a crime scene. We even have gloves, we’re that advanced.”

“What about fingerprints?”

“I think we can discuss all of this on board,” said Patterson. “Bordey, take the Inspector over to be checked in. I’ll be at the tender.”

“We don’t have a crew check-in today, sir. No new crew coming on today.”

“Passenger check-in. Cut into the regular line. No need to disrupt the suite and platinum passengers.”

“Yes, sir. This way, please, Inspector.” Camille led Richard to a counter where an agent was ready to check him in. Richard handed over his passport, had his photograph taken and his credit card recorded “for incidentals.” In a matter of minutes, he had a key card and boarding pass. 

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go through the security check,” said Camille. “Are you armed?”

“No. British police officers do not carry firearms.”

“That will make things easier. Follow me.” Camille walked past the line of people waiting to have their hand luggage x-rayed. She showed the pass she wore on a lanyard to one of the guards, who allowed them into the line. Richard removed belt, wallet, watch, and pocket change, put his briefcase and bag on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector. At least they let him keep his shoes on. Camille followed him through the detector and lifted his bag off the belt while Richard retrieved his briefcase and personal items.

They walked to the edge of the pier, where a gangway led to a small boat.

Patterson called up from the boat, “This is our tender, Inspector.”

When Richard stepped onto the small boat, he said, “Isn’t this a life boat?”

“Well yes, but we prefer to call them tenders. In an emergency, of course they would be used to evacuate the ship.”

Camille set Richard’s bag down and said, “It can get a bit bouncy, Inspector. You should sit down.”

Richard sat down, as did Patterson. Camille wanted to stand in order to show this stiff Englishman that she could keep her balance on the bounciest of tenders, but a look from Patterson made her join the men on the seats.

Rather than discuss the situation with the tender crew within earshot, Patterson took the time to give Richard some background.

“The Ile de Mer line started in France. The name is a tribute to the great ocean liner _Ile de France,_ and _Ile Marie_ is decorated in Art Deco style, with some of the fittings copied from _Ile de France._ Although the line is partly owned by an American mega company, Ile de Mer ships retain their French ambiance.”

“How French?” asked Richard, dreading a diet of frogs’ legs, escargots, and soft French cheeses. And, ugh, French beer.

“Most of our officers are French, but overall, we are a very international crew. I’m from a small island in the Caribbean. Officer Bordey is from Paris. Other security officers are from the United States, Canada, Israel, Portugal…am I missing someone, Camille?”

“Africa. Charlie Nguna is from Kenya.”

“Right,” Patterson chuckled, “He’s the tallest officer on my staff, how could I forget him?”

“With all those nationalities, how do they communicate?”

“Anyone who interacts with passengers must speak French or English fluently, and enough of the other language to get the job done. Many make an effort to improve their language skills in hopes of moving up to supervisory levels. For example, if your cabin steward is new, he or she might speak mainly French and only a little English. But the supervisor for the area will speak both languages well, and may speak another language, too.”

“I see.” Richard replied, but he still looked uneasy.

“You don’t speak French?” asked Camille.

“Not much.”

“Officer Bordey speaks both French and English. A bit of Spanish and German, too, I believe. She will be with you to translate should the need arrive.” Patterson smiled, thinking he had everything sorted out perfectly. As he looked toward the ship they were approaching, he missed the look of despair on Richard’s face and disgust on Camille’s.


	3. Chapter 3

The tender arrived at the ship, and deckhands helped them transfer to open hatch. A member of the security team greeted them. 

“The Captain would like to see you as soon as possible, Chief.”

“Thank you,” said Patterson. “Inspector Poole, this is Charlie Nguna. Charlie, Inspector Poole is here to help us solve this murder.”

“Welcome aboard, Inspector,” said Charlie. “If I might see your key card?”

Richard fished the card from his pocket and handed it to Charlie. Charlie scanned the barcode, and a computer voice said, “Welcome.”

“Okay, that’s got you into the system as having boarded.” Charlie said, pointing to the computer screen that showed the picture that had been taken of Richard in the terminal. “We’ll use your photo to make a crew ID for you so that you can move around the ship more easily. And… oh, yes. Your case. We’ll store it for you and deliver it once your accommodations are arranged."

Charlie scanned Camille’s crew ID and handed her an envelope. She led Richard into a hallway.

“This is One Deck. It’s mostly a crew area, except for the tender lobby we just came through, and another lobby on the starboard side.” Camille paused and looked at Richard, wondering how much she needed to explain.

“Port left, starboard right.”

“Yes.”

“And, obviously, forward and aft.” Richard felt pleased that he wasn’t completely ignorant.

“Right. The stairway in question is a crew stairway, aft port side. I think it’s best if we start at the top, so we’ll take the lift up to Six Deck. I need you to look at the scene so that I can release it. I’ve had the stairs blocked off and guarded, but we really shouldn’t do that. It is an emergency egress, and should be available for use.”

They exited the lift and Camille led Richard out onto the outside deck. 

“Six is Promenade Deck. You may walk or jog—four times around is a mile. Shops and bars and some offices are on this deck. Have you been on a cruise ship before, Inspector?” 

“No. It’s um, that is, _she_ is larger than I expected. Longer and higher.” Richard walked to the railing and looked down. Then he turned to look at the superstructure, another seven decks up.

“Ships are getting bigger all the time. At 2500 passengers, _Ile Marie_ is comparatively small. Do you know there are ships that carry 6000 passengers?”

“They must be huge!”

“They are. Of course, many ships our size carry more people. But we’re a bit high-end, with larger staterooms and more public space. Our company does not like to cram people in like cattle, so the ship never feels crowded, even when we're fully booked, which we nearly always are. Now,” she opened a door marked _CREW ONLY _and said, “Here is our scene. This stairway allows crew to get from their work and living areas up to the open deck. It’s also an emergency exit route for passengers in cabins on Four and Five.”__

__Richard followed her into the stairwell. Camille greeted a security guard who stood just inside the door. They looked down at the stairs. Black tape roughly outlined the shape of a body sprawled near the bottom of the steps. Yellow crime scene tape blocked the flight of stairs at both ends, and a second security guard stood just outside the tape on the lower landing._ _

__Camille released the guards and thanked them for securing the area. Camille pulled some photographs from the envelope and handed them to Richard. He looked at the photos and then at the outline on the steps._ _

__“Have you taken prints?”_ _

__Camille gestured to a black case on the landing. “If you want to take fingerprints, we do have a kit. But honestly, it isn’t worth doing. These stairs are used by so many people that it would be just a mess of smudges.”_ _

__“Hmm. So he was found head down, and on his back?”_ _

__“Yes. And he appeared to have banged his head on just about every step. All the injuries were on the back of his head. His face showed no injuries. If he’d fallen, he’d likely have grabbed at the railing, and then rolled down. But it looks like he went down on his back, which is more consistent with being pushed than with falling.” Camille pulled gloves from the kit. “Here, have a look around.”_ _

__“There’s dirt on some of the steps.”_ _

__“Could be from anyone at any time.”_ _

__“And blood. You should take samples.”_ _

__“We took samples right away. They’ve gone to shoreside forensics already.”_ _

__“These steps have no risers. Evidence might have fallen through. You should have secured the entire staircase.”_ _

__“We did check all the way down, but we found nothing that could help us find the killer. No conveniently discarded blunt object covered with the killer’s prints. At this point, our best hope is if there’s DNA under the victim’s fingernails, and that the killer is in the system. And, of course,” she added a bit too sweetly, “There’s your detective work on board.”_ _

__“Did you bag—”_ _

__“Yes, of course we bagged the hands. Inspector Poole, you are a rude man! You just assume because we aren’t British police officers we don’t know what we’re doing. No, we don’t have a crime lab on board the ship. But I do know how to control a scene and handle a body. We’re going to have to work together for the next week,” Camille stopped when she saw the look of dismay on Richard’s face. It was finally sinking in that he had to stay on board the ship._ _

__Camille narrowed her eyes and continued sarcastically, “Yes, a week until our next port. Unless you’re so brilliant that you’ve solved the case already and can leave now. No? Well then, you’re stuck being on here and I’m stuck leading you around, so I suggest you show me the respect I deserve. I was a damn good detective when I worked in Paris and I still am. I have two commendations for bravery and I’ve been wounded once. We have an excellent fitness center on the ship and I’m willing to bet I’m in better shape than you are and could take you in a barfight any time.”_ _

__Richard was momentarily stunned by her rant. “Sorry, but this is not the way things work in London. We get to a crime scene right away and have a full team to process evidence.”_ _

__“Well, we work on a smaller scale so get used to it. Now, to get back to the crime scene. As I said , we looked, but did not find any bits of anything from a struggle. No popped buttons, no bits of cloth snagged on a handrail. It appears that the victim and his killer stood here and the killer unexpectedly pushed him,” Camille held up her hands to demonstrate, and Richard, stepped back slightly._ _

__“Careful!” She grabbed his arm. “I wasn’t going to push you. But that does bring up a possibility that the two argued and the victim fell when he backed away from the other person. But it looks like he fell hard, so I still think he was pushed.”_ _

__Richard hated to admit it, but she was probably right. He looked at the steps one more time then shrugged, “Nothing else here.”_ _

__“No. So may I release the scene?”_ _

__“Yes.” Richard removed his gloves. “Is the body still on board?”_ _

__“Yes, but you should talk to the wife next. She has not been back to her stateroom since she identified her husband. She’s in an unused stateroom, but she will need to go back to her stateroom to dress and pack. A security guard is with her.”_ _

__Camille led Richard to a bank of lifts. When they got off the lift on Eleven Deck, she gestured toward a hallway, “This way, Inspector. What have you been told about the victim?”_ _

__“Only that he’s on the staff of a cabinet minister.”_ _

__“Right. Phillip Edgerton, aged 54, taking a holiday with his wife Claire. Found by a musician returning from a walk on deck for some fresh air before bed time.”_ _

__“At three in the morning?”_ _

__Camille shrugged, “Musicians stay up late. Mr. Edgerton had his key card when we found him, so we scanned the card and used the photograph to identify him. We hated to wake the wife in the middle of the night, but we had to. We then assigned a woman security guard to her. Technically, Mrs. Edgerton has to be considered a suspect, but it’s highly unliklely. So the guard was both to watch her and protect her. If someone murdered her husband, that someone might go after her, too. Again, unlikely, but we do know how to take precautions.”_ _

__There was an edge to that last statement, but Richard chose to ignore it. No point in having another argument. He feared there were plenty more to come, anyway._ _

__They reached 1145 and Camille knocked on the door. A uniformed crew member opened it. Camille explained why they were there, and she and Richard entered the room. Camille reintroduced herself, knowing that the grieving woman wouldn’t remember her. Then she introduced Richard._ _

__“I’m sorry to have to bother you, Mrs. Edgerton,” he said. “But I have a few questions.”_ _

__The woman began to cry, “I’ve already gone over this. I went to bed and Phil was reading. He said he was going to take a walk, stretch his legs. We’re—we _were,_ a lark and owl pair. You know, one gets up early and one stays up late. He likes— _liked_ to walk. It helped him think. I fell asleep and the next thing I knew, someone was knocking on my door, and I found out my husband was dead.”_ _

__Richard paused to allow the woman to cry a bit and then blow her nose. Then he said, “Was you husband worried about anything in particular? Had he argued with anyone? Received any threats?”_ _

__“No, nothing like that. He was on holiday, but the job is always in his mind. A man in his position couldn’t just halt a whole slate of projects to go on holiday. People continue working on them, and expect to be able to stay in touch. Phil had already signed up for an internet package so he could email his staff. His assistant told me they would try to minimize contact so that we could enjoy our cruise. She’s a lovely woman, so helpful. Oh dear, someone will have to tell her. And the minister! Has he been told?”_ _

__“Our Captain contacted his office, so he should know by now,” said Camille. “Don’t worry about that. You need to save your strength. Is there anything you’ve thought of since we spoke earlier? Any problem, any person from work who might have been a problem?”_ _

__“No, nothing, nobody.”_ _

__Camille nodded, then turned to Richard, “Do you have any further questions, Inspector?”_ _

__“No. Mrs. Edgerton, we’ll give you a contact number in case you think of anything later on. Thank you for your time. I know this is difficult for you. Please accept our condolences.”_ _

__“Thank you,” said Mrs. Edgerton between sniffles._ _

__“We need you to stay here a while longer,” said Camille, “And then you may pack and get ready to leave the ship. Miranda, will stay with you. And if you want help packing, we can arrange that.”_ _

__“Thank you.”_ _

__When they left the stateroom, Camille saw her boss having a “discussion” with a man outside the victim’s stateroom._ _

__“That must be the escort from Edgerton’s office,” said Camille. “They told us someone would be here to help Mrs. Edgerton and escort the body back to London.”_ _

__“Has anyone searched the room?”_ _

__“We looked around, but there was nothing significant. Papers on the desk were about some boring projects to do with tax rates. I haven’t opened the safe yet, but I have a master code that will open it.”_ _

__“Odds are, this guy wants to collect Edgerton’s papers, and he will want to do it himself before we go into the room. As long as I am the only one with Bahamian credentials, I am in charge, and that should be enough to stop him. So for pity’s sake, Bordey, you may think I’m rude, you may hate that I’m here, but we need to work together to stop him taking away potentially useful evidence. So I want cooperation, not attitude.”_ _

__Camille rolled her eyes and Richard said, “Ah-ah-ah, I saw that. No eye rolling. No sneering. None of those huffing noises like you just made. I am your superior officer, and you will address me as sir.”_ _

__“Are you out of your—”_ _

__“And no insubordination! If I’m going to pull rank on this guy, I’m going to need backup. Once we’re done with him, you can be as stroppy as you like. But for the moment, you’re my dutiful assistant. Got that?”_ _

__“Yes sir, absolutely,” Camille replied, wondering what _stroppy_ meant._ _

__“All right, then.”_ _

__They walked up to the two men, and Patterson turned to face them._ _

__“Inspector!” he said. “How are things progressing?”_ _

__“I’ve looked at the crime scene and told Officer Bordey she can release it. I’ve spoken to Mrs. Edgerton and now I’m ready to search their cabin.”_ _

__“I cannot allow that!” said the newcomer._ _

__“And you are?” Richard asked cooly._ _

__The man offered a business card. “Edward MacGregor, special assistant to the Minister for Finance and Industry. And it is imperative that I collect Mr. Edgerton’s papers.”_ _

__“And you should be able to do that in less than an hour. Officer Bordey and I need to search the victim’s room. Normal police procedure.”_ _

__“On whose authority are you going to do that? Who are you, anyway?”_ _

__Richard took out his badge and an ID card. “I am Detective Inspector Richard Poole of the Metropolitan Police Force and the Royal Bahamas Police Force.”_ _

__“I really think the Minister outranks—”_ _

__“Actually, no. You see, this ship is registered in the Bahamas, and as such, I am in charge of the investigation.” Richard took a pen and a business card out of his briefcase. He wrote on the card and handed it to MacGregor. “If you have any questions, call my Superintendent. My email address is on the card. I will need a list of people who have written letters of complaint to Mr. Edgerton specifically, and also a list of letters to the minister or his office.”_ _

__“I’m not sure if we can do that.”_ _

__“I’m afraid I must insist. Don’t you want your boss’s murder to be solved?” Richard turned toward the door and suddenly realized that he had no idea how he was supposed to open it. Camille stepped forward and saved the moment._ _

__“If I may, sir?” She held up a card key._ _

__He gestured as if he was doing her a great favor, “Yes, please do.”_ _

__Camille unlocked the door to suite 1141, walked through, and held the door for Richard._ _

__“Thank you,” he said. When the door clicked closed, he said softly, “Well played.”_ _

__“You were doing so well, I couldn’t let you ruin the moment by not being able to open the door. Are all English men as annoying as, um, MacGregor?”_ _

__MacGregor is a Scots name, and I can’t really comment on the annoying nature of the Scots.”_ _

__“You mean Scotch, don’t you?”_ _

__“No. Scotch is a kind of whisky. MacGregor, despite his Home Counties accent, would be of Scots or Scottish descent. And you can’t generalize based on one person. It would be wrong to assume all Scots are as annoying as he is.”_ _

__“Or all Englishmen.” said Camille under her breath._ _

__Richard knew she had muttered something, but couldn’t make it out, so he decided to move on with the investigation. “You said you searched in here earlier. Did anything strike you as out of the ordinary?”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“I doubt personal items will tell us anything, then. So let’s look at the papers.” Richard took a small camera out of his briefcase. “I’ll look through and photograph anything significant. You said you could open the safe?”_ _

__“Yes.” Camille opened a closet door and punched in the master code. While she did that, she asked, “Why don’t you use the camera in your mobile?”_ _

__“This has a fresh card. Get all the photos in one place, and not mixed up with personal pictures. Ugh, you were right. It’s all boring tax code. Who would kill someone to get this? It will all be made public once it’s finalized. Anything in the safe?”_ _

__“Wallets, extra currency—pounds, Euros, dollars. No papers other than their passports. And Mrs. Edgerton has some _very_ nice bling.”_ _

__“Am I going to have to search you before we leave?” Richard asked._ _

__“Excuse me? You better not lay a hand on me!”_ _

__“Joke, Officer Bordey. Just a joke. You sounded a little too impressed with the contents of the safe. Where’s his mobile?”_ _

__“With the personal effects from the body. We did not send that in with the scene evidence. We’ve got someone going through the memory for recent calls and messages.”_ _

__“Good. Not much in the briefcase. Confirmation for some tours in the islands. E-ticket for a flight home. Nothing anyone would kill for. I think we’re done.”_ _

__“So what’s next?”_ _

__“Release the room for Mrs. Edgerton to pack and for MacGregor to gather up the state secrets. And I’d like to see the body before it’s removed from the ship. How do you plan to get a body off the ship without anyone knowing about it?”_ _

__“On a gurney, as if he’s very ill. Security will go along as attendants. Local ambulance will take him to the morgue, where MacGregor can fight with the local medical examiner over who will handle the autopsy.”_ _

__“Right. Then let’s allow Mrs. Edgerton back in. The guard, sorry… Miriam?”_ _

__“Miranda.”_ _

__“Right, Miranda. She will stay with Mrs. Edgerton right to the tender, and if necessary on the tender. Call it babysitting if you will, but the poor woman needs someone other than MacGregor to hold her up. Let’s keep MacGregor outside and see if Mrs. Edgerton knows him. So I will stay here while you collect Miranda and Mrs. Edgerton. First thing you should do is have Mrs. Edgerton verify the contents of the safe.”_ _

__“I did not take anything!” Camille said angrily._ _

__“I didn’t say that you did. But you’ve opened the safe without her here, so she should satisfy everyone involved that nothing is missing. We don’t want to have added complications later.”_ _

__Camille left and Patterson entered. “If I might have a word, Inspector?”_ _

__“Yes, of course.”_ _

__“How soon can Mr. MacGregor come in and collect Edgerton’s papers?”_ _

__“I’ve sent Officer Bordey to get Mrs. Edgerton so that she can dress and pack. Let’s leave it to her to decide about MacGregor. If she knows him and is comfortable with him being in the room, then that’s fine. The paperwork was nothing hush-hush, just some tax charts. I took photos, but I doubt they’ll be of any use.”_ _

__“I see. I hope Camille is taking good care of you. We’re lucky to have her. She was trained by the French National Police. She was the equivalent of an English DS, just one rank below you, before she decided to run away to sea.”_ _

___Probably got the sack for insubordination,_ Richard thought, but said nothing. This turned out to be a fortunate decision, as Camille returned to the room at that moment._ _

__Mrs. Edgerton did know Mr. MacGregor, and said he could collect any papers that he needed. She verified the contents of the safe, and missed the smug look Camille threw Richard._ _


	4. Chapter 4

Camille took Richard back down to a crew deck. 

“The body is in here.” She slid open a heavy door. Cold, sweet-smelling air flowed out. Richard paused to look in, and Camille said, “Come on, we’re letting the cold out.”

“There is no such thing as cold, only the absence of heat.”

Camille wasn’t quite sure what _stroppy_ was, but she was allowed to be it again, so she gestured for Richard to walk into the room and said, “Whatever you call it, we’re letting it out.”

“This is a little excessive,” he said, looking at all the flowers in the room.

“We don’t have a morgue. We use the florist’s cold room.”

“Oh.”

“Well, we could hardly put him in the food stores, could we? Ships are subject to inspections from health officials. We would definitely be marked down for a dead body in the meat locker.”

Camille pulled back the sheet and Richard looked at Edgerton’s head.

“I see what you meant. The back’s a mess but there isn’t a mark on his face. What about the arms? Are there finger marks?”

“No. But sometimes bruises don’t show up right away.”

“Yes, I know. I hope we get a detailed autopsy report. I don’t know what help it will be, but I like to be thorough.”

_Oui, I noticed,_ Camille thought, but she just smiled. “Are we done here?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me show you our offices.”

They left the cold room and made their way through a maze of corridors, finally reaching a large space with several desks and a bank of monitors. Camille reached for a phone and punched in several numbers. 

“It’s Bordey, sir. We’ve seen the body and Inspector Poole says it’s good to go. Do you need me at the tender lobby?”

Pause.

“I’m in the office now, so it would be no trouble.”

Pause.

“Yes. Both of us. Right, sir.”

Camille hung up. She directed two of the security guards to put on the white coats they’d been lent and meet the doctor at the florist’s cold room. Then she turned to Richard.

“We’re assembling a digital case file. Give me the memory card from your camera, and Joe here will download the photos you took upstairs.” Seeing Richard hesitate, she said, “You did say the card was clean. Did you just remember that you’ve got naked pictures of your girlfriend on it?”

“Certainly not!” Richard took out the camera and removed the card. Joe wrote POOLE on the card and promised to return it quickly.

“Come on, then,” Camille walked out of the room, “We’re meeting Chief Patterson at the tender lobby.”

They arrived in time to see the “sick” passenger carefully loaded onto a tender. As Mrs. Edgerton was boarding the tender, Richard pulled MacGregor aside.

“I understand that the Edgerton’s were on holiday.”

“Yes.”

“Just the two of them?”

“Yes.”

“Is there any chance that someone else was traveling with them?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“At that hour of the night, he could have been meeting someone.”

“How dare you suggest he was giving away state secrets!”

“Actually, I was thinking rendezvous,” said Richard, keeping his voice low so that the widow wouldn’t hear. “How well did you know Edgerton? How was his marriage?”

“That’s an outrage!”

“I’m sorry if you find the question offensive, but I would be remiss if I didn’t explore all possibilities. We have no motive for this killing.”

“Well, it wasn’t _that!_ He worked for a _cabinet minister_ for heaven’s sake!”

Feeling that he was a little close to the boundary of his authority, Richard bit back a sarcastic retort, and said simply, “Don’t forget about those lists.”

Richard, Camille and Patterson watched the tender pull away.

“He worked for a cabinet minister, for heaven’s sake!” said Camille in a disgusted tone of voice. 

“He has to spout the company line,” said Richard. “Bloody beaurocrat.”

Patterson’s pocket chirped and he took out what appeared to be a small flip-phone. He had a brief conversation and then said, “We need to return to the office.”

As they walked, Patterson explained, “This is my little Star-Trek communicator. We have an in-house wireless phone system, so much better than the old walkie-talkies. We’ve got one for you, and your crew ID is ready.”

At the office, Joe showed Richard how the phone worked and explained how to speed-dial Camille, Patterson, or the security office. He gave Richard a crew pass on a lanyard, which was to be worn any time Richard was in a crew area. He also gave Richard a memory stick with all of the crime files on it. And he returned Richard’s memory card.

“Sorry, Camille,” said Joe. “Nothing juicy, just pictures of documents.”

“Too bad. It might have been entertaining.” 

Joe laughed, Richard did not. 

“I think that’s all we can do today,” said Patterson. “Camille, the Purser has Inspector Poole’s cabin assignment and other documents. Please walk him there and help him find his stateroom. Drinks in the Ward Room at six, dinner will be at half past seven. Camille, you will accompany the Inspector to dinner in the Windward Dining room.”

Camille groaned inwardly. How much time was she going to have to spend with this annoying man? “Sir, do I—”

“Yes, you do. It’s the _oval_ table, and you will keep the numbers even. Also, you two will need to mingle with passengers and listen for comments and gossip. I know, it sounds unsavoury, but it needs to be done.” Turning to Richard, he added, “I don’t know where they’ll put you. My understanding is that the ship is fully booked, but I’ve been assured they found you somewhere to sleep.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this chapter contains shameless plundering of bits from the show.

Camille took Richard to the lowest level of the atrium. A musician played the grand piano that occupied the center of the floor. People milled around, some listening, some admiring the grandeur of the space. The look was definitely art deco. Richard felt as if he’d stumbled into a 1930s movie. 

Hallways branched out from the atrium, one heading forward and the other aft. Camille cut into the line at the Purser’s desk and received a large envelope. She looked through the contents as she walked back to where Richard was standing.

“He’s good,” said Richard, gesturing toward the pianist.

“We have a lot of talented musicians. The jazz combo plays in that lounge,” Camille pointed across the atrium. “They’re called Haute Fidélité. Their leader is the one who found Edgerton.”

“Why haven’t I seen him?”

“He doesn’t have anything useful to say. He found the body, called security, saw nobody, touched nothing. No need to rush to talk to him. They’ll be down here tonight, so you can talk to him when he’s on break.” Camille looked at the contents of the envelope. “Everything seems to be here. You’ve got a stateroom and a dining confirmation. Today’s program, the usual embarkation stuff. Let’s see, you’re on five, aft. This way.”

Camille walked to a bank of lifts and hit the “up” button. 

“Wait! Where’s my case?”

“They probably delivered it to the room.”

“Maybe we should check before going there.”

“Don’t worry.”

“What if it’s lost?”

“It isn’t. We know it’s on board. Stop worrying. What’s in it, the nuclear launch codes or something like that?”

“No. My clothes. If that case is lost, this is all I have to wear. You’re going to be sick of seeing this suit by the end of the trip.”

Camille bit back a comment about being sick of it already. Goodness, but the man dressed conservatively. 

“Actually, you’ll be sick of it anyway. It’s the only suit I packed. I was told to be prepared for a few days.”

When they reached 5178, Camille held out her hand, “Give me your card key. Let’s see if the system knows you.”

The card worked perfectly. Richard walked into the room and stopped suddenly. 

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re moving.”

Camille glanced at her watch. “Yes, we’re leaving. Right on time, too.”

Richard saw his case sitting on the bed. “I think I’ll unpack.”

This took about a minute. “Drat.”

“What?”

“I forgot pajamas.”

“Sorry, I can’t lend you mine. I sleep naked. You should try it.” Seeing Richard’s shocked expression—she wasn’t sure if it was caused by the idea of borrowing her clothing or sleeping naked—she said, “There should be a robe in the bathroom. If not, ask your steward to bring one. And remember to keep your drapes closed when we’re in port, and nobody will see you.”

Richard looked in the bathroom and was relieved that he at least had a robe to wear in his room.

“You know,” he said, “Now that we’re moving, it raises a question. How were sea conditions last night? Was it rough? I mean, he might have fallen if the ship rolled suddenly.”

“No, it wasn’t bad at all. It can be rough in la Manche, but it wasn’t last night.”

“You mean the English Channel.”

“En Français it’s la Manche.”

“But I’m English so I say English Channel.”

“And this is a French ship, so she sails across la Manche.”

“Whatever. Is there somewhere on the ship where I can get tea?”

“Yes, afternoon tea is served in Club Internationale, one of the lounges. It’s a beautiful room, modeled after one on the _SS France.”_

“Good. I know it won’t be proper tea, but it’s better than nothing.”

“What will be so improper about it?”

“Well, you know. It’s _French._ Do the French know how to make tea?”

“Of course we do! All it takes is hot water and a tea bag.” 

“Aha! You _don’t_ know. You don’t use hot water, you need boiling water. And I won’t even try to explain the difference between a tea bag and loose tea.”

“Oh, I do understand that part. One is in a bag and one isn’t.” Camille was getting tired of the grumpy Englishman. Her earlier rant had had a brief effect, but it was wearing off. Time for a bit of revenge. “But you can’t go to tea yet. You have to have emergency drill.”

“What emergency?”

“They used to call it life boat drill.” Camille opened a closet door. “Here is your pfd. Don’t put it on here, but you need to take it with you.”

“PFD? Is that a French acronym?”

“No. It means personal floatation device.”

“Whatever happened to _lifevest_ or _lifejacket_?”

“Out of style. Come on.”

Camille marched Richard up the stairs, saying “You can’t take the lifts during an emergency.” 

She showed him how to put on his pfd and made him stand on deck under his assigned lifeboat.

“Is this really necessary?”

“Yes. It’s maritime law. You want us to be law-abiding, don’t you?”

“I want a cup of tea,” he sighed.

“Then be quiet and listen.” Camille said and rattled off as much as she could remember of the safety lecture that was normally done over the public address system. 

“The ship’s emergency signal will be sounded on the ship’s horn and internal sirens. The signal for general emergency is seven short blasts followed by one long blast. Normally, this would be demonstrated during a drill, but we don’t want to scare everyone just for you. So remember seven short and one long. In the event of an emergency, passengers will be kept informed via the public announcement system. You should return to your cabin, put on warm clothing, including a coat and hat, and put on your personal floatation device. Ensure that you have fastened the buckles correctly and pulled the belt tightly. Secure loose ends of the belt so that you do not trip.”

“You’ve already explained that.”

“Sorry, but it’s in the script. Letter of the law and all that.” Camille smiled. She was enjoying his discomfort. “Let’s see, signal, pfd, okay. When you hear the emergency signal, make your way to your muster station, following the signs in the hallways. If a route is blocked, a secondary route will be available. Crew will be positioned throughout the ship to assist passengers. Once at your station, you should stand in an orderly fashion, and follow the crew’s orders. Should the captain issue the order to abandon ship, life boats will be lowered and crew will assist passengers in boarding. The ship is equipped with sufficient lifeboats to accommodate all passengers. In addition, there are a number of inflatable lifeboats, which can provide additional accommodation.”

“Are we done yet?”

“Next comes a safety discussion.”

“Seriously? Are you doing this so I’ll miss tea?”

He was onto her game, so she cut it short. “A few important safety reminders. Don’t sit on the railings. Be aware that the ship is a moving vehicle, and that there are grab bars you can use to keep yourself steady. There’s an old saying, ‘One hand for you and one for the ship.’ Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll keep that short. People often think it’s okay to toss a cigarette end over the side. But it can blow back and start a fire, so don’t do that. In fact, don’t throw anything over the side. Environmental law requires us to process all rubbish to recycle what we can and prepare everything for removal shoreside. It is against the law to throw rubbish into the sea.”

“Are we done now?”

“Yes. And you may take the lift back down to Five if you like.”

Richard looked at his watch. “It’s probably too late for tea, isn’t it?”

“Oops, sorry.” Camille grinned. If he was all that smart, he could read the information folder in his cabin and learn about room service. It wasn’t her job to tell him _everything_. “I’ll collect you at six. Dinner tonight is informal, so the suit will be fine. You know what, be ready at five thirty. We have one other thing to do.”

She turned and Richard watched her walk away. Long stride, head held high, she was incredibly confident. He’d always liked the strong independent type. Too bad she was so stroppy. 

Back in his cabin, Richard removed his jacket and loosened his tie. Was it always so warm inside a ship? And were the “cheap seats” like his cabin always so sparsely furnished? Shouldn’t there at least be a desk chair? He sat on the bed and almost hit his head on the bunk above. Bunk beds, really? At least he didn’t have to share with anyone. It really was a tiny cabin. At least it was spotlessly clean. 

Richard was looking through the information folder to learn about the thermostat when the Officer of the Watch announced that there would be an emergency drill for those passengers who had embarked that day. There was a brief explanation of the signal and a reminder that passengers should check their rooms to make sure they had the requisite life jackets, but that these were not to be brought to the drill. Damn that woman! She’d put him through that time-consuming individual drill _and_ made him wear the bloody life jacket just to amuse herself. _Stroppy_ didn’t come close to describing Camille Bordey!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't intended to give Richard such a bad cabin, but comments from Million Moments and Willowsticks gave me ideas.


	6. Chapter 6

After a shower and a brief nap, Richard felt revived, but his cabin was still uncomfortably warm. He wondered if the thermostat was actually connected to anything. Even if he had remembered his pajamas he might have found it necessary to sleep naked in this cabin. 

Richard was tying his tie when Camille knocked on the door. Why did Patterson have to saddle him with this woman in the evening as well as all day long? And what was the big deal about the oval table? 

When Richard opened the door, Camille said, “Good, you’re ready. Come on.”

“Good evening to you, too,” he muttered. As he followed her down the hallway, he noticed that her white shirt had been replaced by a uniform jacket and the flat shoes had been replaced by moderate heels. After reading the information about the various levels of evening dress code, Richard wondered if the female officers resented not being allowed to forgo their uniforms in favor of cocktail dresses and gowns. From what he had heard about cruises, it appeared that a large part of cruise life was dressing for dinner.

When they got off the lift, they were on the third level of the atrium, by the shops.

“I thought we were going somewhere for a drink.”

“Later. First we have to get you something to wear to dinner.”

“I have my suit.”

“You cannot spend the entire cruise wearing one suit. And you should have a dinner suit for formal nights.” Camille led the way into the menswear shop.

“Good evening, Officer Bordey. How can I help you?” asked the salesman.

“This is Inspector Poole. He needs a dinner suit.”

“Hmm, we’re pretty thin on rentals. What are you sizes, sir?” The salesman tapped at his computer as Richard rattled off the numbers. “Yes, I think we can manage that. Come with me.”

While Richard disappeared into the fitting area, Camille browsed the racks of clothing. When Richard emerged, with the salesman promising the suit and accessories would be delivered to his stateroom, she set a small pile of garments on the counter.

“These, too,” she said.

“What’s that?” Richard asked.

“You need some daytime clothes. You can’t go around looking like a detective inspector all the time.”

“But that’s what I am.”

“You need these in order to fit in.” 

Richard poked at the pile of clothes. “But you don’t know my sizes.”

“Yes, I do.” Camille rattled off the sizes and handed Richard a pen. “Sorry, was I not supposed to listen when you told him?

“I don’t know about this.”

“Just sign. It will go on your onboard account. It’s for work. You can expense it when you get home.”

“Not bloody likely. I have no intention of getting caught trying to build a duck house!”

“What do ducks have to do with buying clothes?”

“There was a scandal with government officials writing off personal expenses to the government. One of the items was a little house for ducks, and that became sort of a symbol for the scandal. Somehow, I don’t think the Met is going to buy me a cruise wardrobe. Not when auditors are everywhere.”

Camille snapped her fingers and pointed to the sales slip. “Sign it.”

So Richard signed. He grumbled to himself as they walked to the lift.

She cut him off by explaining their approach to questioning people. “Chief Patterson says we are to tell people it’s a training exercise. You’re here to evaluate how we investigate a crime. So we’re pretending someone was murdered, and we’re going to question some passengers who might have been witnesses.”

“Do you think people will believe that?”

“It’s important not to make people panic. If you tell passengers that someone was murdered, they’re all going to think they’re the next victim. This will work.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Now I really need that drink. What’s the Wardroom?”

“It’s the officer’s lounge. Officers can go to the bars around the ship, but this is a place where the passengers don’t go. The only exception is for special receptions, which may be held on a formal night.” Camille led Richard to the forward bank of lifts. While they waited for a lift, she took him through the litany of officers, both names and titles.

“It confuses some passengers, because there’s more than one captain. The Master is the officer people think of as Captain. But there’s also the Staff Captain, who ranks just below him. Then there’s First Officer, sometimes called Chief Officer, then Second Officer, then Third. The Staff and First officers also have Master’s qualifications. Second may also, I haven’t asked her. First, Second, and Third stand watches on the Bridge. Master and Staff Captain do not stand regular watches, but the Master will be on the bridge during arrival and departure from a port. Or, of course, during an emergency, but we would prefer not to have one of those.”

They got into the lift, and Camille continued, “So, as you can see, there are plenty of people who can drive the boat.”

“Ship.” Richard corrected her, surprised that after making the fuss about _her_ versus _it,_ Camille would make such an error.

“Some of us say _boat_ as a term of endearment.” She held back a sigh.

“There is a difference, you know. A ship carries boats. This ship carries lifeboats, so you can’t call her a boat. I would have thought you’d know that.”

The lift stopped, the doors opened, and Camille stalked out, gritting her teeth. God, this man was annoying! 

Richard followed her to a door marked “CREW ONLY.” She punched in a security code, and opened the door. As they walked along a narrow corridor, Camille said, “Bridge officers’ quarters are here and one deck up. The Bridge is just above the Wardroom.”

“There you are!” Chief Patterson greeted them as soon as they entered the Wardroom,.

“Good evening, sir,” said Camille.

“Good evening,” Richard echoed her.

“Are you settled in comfortably, Inspector? I hope they gave you a good stateroom.” 

“It’s nothing like Edgerton’s suite, of course. But adequate for me. The only problem is that it’s very warm.”

“Leave a note at the purser or tell your steward and it will be reported to Maintenance. Please don’t prop the balcony door open. That may solve your problem, but it plays hell with the air flow system and someone else will suffer.”

“No danger of that, I don’t have a balcony.”

“He has an oceanview, sir,” Camille clarified. 

“Ah, I see. Well, it will get sorted out, I’m sure. Now, what would you like to drink?”

“Beer would be fine. Oh wait. It would be French, wouldn’t it?”

“What’s wrong with French beer?” Camille was really getting irritated, but had to control her temper in front of her boss. 

“It’s, um, well, it isn’t to my taste.”

Eager to keep things pleasant, Patterson said, “There’s a good selection in bottles, if you’d like to ask the bartender. I do believe we have Bass on tap.”

“Bass would be perfect.”

“Camille? If you would, please?”

“Of course.” Camille smiled and turned away. If she had to grit her teeth like this for rest of the cruise, she would have no enamel left. 

“Now, Inspector,” Patterson said. “It has come to my attention that you did not attend the emergency drill for newly embarked passengers today. Everyone must attend. It’s maritime law.”

“Yes, I know. Camille took me through the whole process this afternoon, right after…,”

-o-o-o-o-

When Camille reached the bar, her smile turned genuine. “Hi, Roger.”

“Hi there. Do I see smoke coming out your ears?”

“Visiting English cop on a training exercise. Patterson has me babysitting him. He’s English, so he would like a Bass, please.”

“And for you?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got anything 500 proof?”

Roger laughed at her impossible request. “No. We do have some high-octane rum, but are you sure you want to go there, what with your boss being here?”

Camille sighed, “No. I’ll have a glass of whatever French red you’ve got open.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille returned to the two men in time to hear Richard say, “…had me put on my pfd and made sure it was correct, the whole procedure. I feel quite ready for any emergency.”

“Your beer, Inspector,” she said, wondering what exactly he had told her boss and if that last statement was sincere or sarcasm.

“Camille, I hear that you gave Inspector Poole a private emergency drill.”

“Yes, I thought it would be more convenient for him to do it a bit early so that he could have time to rest and settle in.” She smiled at Richard as she said this, but he could see that she was daring him to say it had been anything but an accommodation to his comfort.

“Good, good. I can take him off the naughty list, then. Just one couple to track down tomorrow. Now, Inspector, let me introduce you to some of the other officers.”

Camille excused herself and crossed the room to chat with two young officers. Richard was introduced to Captain Jean-Luc Bouchard, a tall man with a wide smile.

“Inspector!” he said, “Welcome aboard. We are very distressed about this whole situation, and it’s a relief to have you here to help us. This joint certification plan is certainly working to our advantage. Not that Chief Patterson’s crew aren’t up to handling anything that comes their way. But your official jurisdiction is a great convenience. And I hear you have an excellent track record with the London force, so I’m sure you’ll help us solve this case.”

“I certainly hope so. If I may ask, Captain, what are all the plaques on the walls?”

“Ah, that’s our, what do they call it… brag? No, ego. Our ego wall. When _Ile Marie_ makes a maiden call or visits a port during a special occasion, the local dignitaries usually come on board for a tour and they present us with a commemorative plaque or a copy of a proclamation. The most recent ones are scattered around the ship where passengers can see them. As we get new ones, the older ones come up here. We’re surrounded by our ship’s history. Please take a look around. You’ll see how many wonderful places our belle _Marie_ has been.”

“Thank you, I’d like that. If you’ll excuse me?” 

Richard walked over to a plaque with a large crest on it. The kangaroo and emu on the plaque showed that _Ile Marie_ had been to Australia. She’d been in Hong Kong to celebrate the arrival of the year of the rat, and in Honolulu during a commemoration of Pearl Harbor Day. He was reading a plaque in honor of a port in Norway, when he heard laughter. A woman’s laugh, almost musical. He looked up and was surprised to learn it was Camille. He couldn’t hear the conversation clearly, but he could tell it was in French, and one of the officers seemed to be telling an outrageous story. Richard had noticed that Camille was attractive, but when she smiled, her face lit up and she was truly beautiful. She glanced at her watch, and the smile disappeared. With a shrug, she bade the officers goodbye.

She walked up to Richard and said, “We should be going.”

Patterson appeared out of nowhere and said, “Are you ready to go? I’m on the oval tonight. I’m taking Dwayne’s turn. Some problem with tonight’s showroom performer, so I’ll be host. Let’s go, it wouldn’t do for me to be late.”


	7. Chapter 7

On the way to dinner, Richard asked Patterson about the oval table.

“Sir, what is so special about this oval table we’re sitting at?”

“It’s a hosted table. It’s a cruise tradition to have a captain’s table. We do a variation of that by having a variety of officers hosting. The Master will host on formal nights, but other nights are assigned to others. Our cruise director was supposed to be at the table tonight, but I’m standing—make that _sitting—_ in for him.”

“How do passengers get assigned to this table?”

“Oh, it varies. The Edgertons were there because of his position in a minister’s office. Other people are high-level past passengers, people celebrating a milestone birthday or anniversary, or sometimes just people randomly selected.”

“So it’s unlikely that other people at the table would have met the Edgertons before?”

“Very unlikely. Now, has Camille explained our cover story?”

“Some sort of training exercise,” Richard replied.

“Yes. You’re here to observe how we conduct an investigation. And of course, you can join in to show Camille ways to improve.” Patterson smiled as if this was acceptable to everyone. Only Richard heard Camille’s small huff of annoyance.

“May we ask the other guests at the table about the Edgertons?” Richard asked.

“Let’s make that one of the exercises. Camille will question, and you’ll observe her.”

“And correct any mistakes, I’m sure,” she muttered under her breath.

“What was that, Camille?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Remember to tread lightly. They are not to know any more than that Edgerton was taken ill suddenly. And the table is generally informal, so if others are using first names, you should address each other by first names, too. So, ready?”

“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison, both aware that the use of first names did not extend to the boss.

They entered the Windward Dining Room on the lower level, where the Maitre D’ greeted them and led them to a large oval table positioned in the center of the room, under the soaring ceiling. Patterson took the lone seat at one end of the table. Richard and Camille took the two empty seats along one side. 

Patterson introduced himself and explained the Edgertons’ departure from the ship as well as Camille and Richard’s arrival at the table. The other passengers were an interesting mix. The Davidsons were from the United States, the Crofts were from England, and the Jourdins were from France. None had met the Edgertons before the previous evening at dinner.

“Oh my,” said Lorna Croft, “He seemed fine at dinner last night. Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“No,” Richard replied. “He was taken off the ship and met by a waiting ambulance.”

“Well,” said Peter Croft, “It’s good that he was able to get off the ship in England, rather than have to rely on the onboard medical facility.”

Richard felt Camille stiffen at the implied criticism of her ship, but Patterson spoke before she could reply. 

“We do have an excellent staff on board, but of course, we can’t do all the high-tech testing that is available at a shoreside facility. I’m sure we all wish Edgerton a speedy recovery.”

“What do the Edgertons have to do with this training thing you’re doing?” Peter asked.

“The idea is for Camille to investigate a fictional crime so that I can observe and improve her investigational techniques.” Richard said as he stifled a smile. He knew that even the slightest suggestion of room for improvement would annoy Camille. “Since the Edgertons have left the ship, we are going to find out what people know about him, trace his time on board. For example, Camille might ask you if Mr. Edgerton spoke about his work.”

“Yes, I was going to ask that,” said Camille. “Does anyone recall such a conversation?”

“I hate to admit to being dumb,” giggled Marcia Davidson, “But when he said he worked for a minister, I thought he worked at a church.”

Camille had to stifle en eye roll. But she kept a neutral expression and said, “That’s understandable. I believe your similar officials are called cabinet secretaries?”

“Yes.” Marcia nodded her head. “But now that I think about it, they aren’t secretaries. I mean, they have secretaries working in their offices, but I don’t think the Secretary of State does typing or filing.”

“I suppose not. Did he say anything more about what he, um, does?” Camille caught herself just before she slipped up with past tense.

“Only that it’s to do with taxes,” said Guy Jourdin. “I recall he made a little joke about nobody liking the tax man.”

“Right,” said Peter Croft. “Richard, I daresay you’ve heard about revisions to Inland Revenue regulations.”

“Yes, a little. But nothing official has been released about the latest revisions.”

“Doesn’t keep the press from speculating, though, does it?” Peter was disgusted. “They’ll say anything to sell newspapers or get us to watch the evening news. No shame, the lot of them.”

Camille asked the women what they thought of Mrs. Edgerton.

“Quiet,” said Paulette Jourdin.

“Yes, very soft-spoken,” Lorna Croft agreed. “Quite elegant, lovely. She dressed very nicely for an informal night. You know how it is, the first night out, we haven’t always got our posh frocks ready. But she looked perfect.”

Camille smiled, “Yes, I understand. In cruising tradition, the first night is always informal because in the old days, the ladies’ maids might not have had time to unpack the steamer trunks and ready all the gowns.”

“Oh, it must have been lovely to travel with a maid,” sighed Marcia Davidson. “Did Mrs. Edgerton have her maid with her?”

“She may have a maid at home, but they weren’t traveling with servants. Why do you think she has a maid?”

“They obviously have money. She had a _serious_ rock,” Marcia wiggled her fingers to indicate a ring. “And her bracelet must have cost a fortune. And if that was what she wore for an informal evening, well…”

Richard watched the other women as Camille conversed with Marcia. Paulette Jourdin looked amused, but he thought Lorna Croft was a bit put off by Marcia’s discussion of another person’s wealth. He made a mental note to ask Camille if she’d observed the other women’s attitudes. In an investigation, it was important to note what wasn’t said as much as what was said.

The dinner conversation drifted to other topics. The pace of the meal was leisurely, but service was attentive. Richard wondered if all tables had such perfect service or if the best waitstaff were assigned to the Oval.

The food was excellent. Richard was delighted to discover that the chef on a French ship could make a decent Yorkshire pudding. And not from frozen, either. This was fresh and light as a feather. 

“So that’s what Yorkshire pudding, is!” said Marcia Davidson. “I thought it was strange to have pudding with roast beef. What does it taste like?”

Before Richard could answer, Patterson waved the waiter over and asked that a Yorkshire pudding be brought out for Mrs. Davidson. “And while you’re getting it, get an extra one for Inspector Poole. And one for Officer Bordey. You really should try it, Camille. ”

“No gravy, though,” said Camille.

“That’s how it’s eaten,” said Richard.

“Maybe with your roast beef, but beef gravy does not go with fish. Do you always put gravy on everything?”

“Just meat, potatoes, and veg,” said Peter Croft, grinning at Richard. “We Brits do love our gravy.”

“Yes, dear,” said Lorna Croft. “And that’s why you’re taking cholesterol medication. Camille, you’ll notice that my plate is not awash in gravy.”

Apparently, this was a running debate with the couple, because Peter said, “That’s your posh London attitude. Up in Yorkshire, where I’m from, we know about gravy!”

The waiter really was good at his trade. When he delivered the Yorkshire puddings, Richard’s was covered in gravy, but Camille’s and Marcia’s were not. Small gravy boats were discretely set by their plates. 

Oh, deeelish! Try some, Honey,” said Marcia, holding out a forkful for her husband.

“Mmm, good,” Jay Davidson agreed. “Like a popover.”

“Camille?” asked Richard.

“It’s okay.” Actually, she thought it was very good, but she had no intention of giving Richard the satisfaction of liking something English.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Catherine is not Camille's mother, although she is sort of a mother figure.

As they left the dining room, Richard asked Camille, “How can you eat like this every night?”

“I don’t, believe me. Our food in the officer’s mess is very good, but I don’t usually have a starter _and_ a soup. You didn’t have to make such heavy choices. If you’ll recall, I had consommé and you had the cream soup. I had steamed fish and you had roast beef with _two_ Yorkshire puddings and a liter of gravy. And you topped it off with tarte tatin and ice cream.”

“Apple pie.”

“Tarte tatin.”

“French,” he grumbled. “Even with your lighter choices, it still was a lot of courses.”

“I know. But when the passengers all order something for every course, it looks bad if we don’t keep up. We don’t want to make them feel greedy.”

“Even if they are? I’ve heard stories about people stuffing themselves constantly on a cruise.”

“I didn’t see you turning down any courses.”

“It seemed to be, you know, the way it is…”

“ _Comme il faut,_ you mean.” Camille smiled as she saw him searching for a comeback. God, it was easy to wind this guy up. Just a few words in French and he wanted to go all Henry V at Agincourt.

After a stroll past the shops and bars around the atrium, Camille took Richard to the Wave Lounge, where Haute Fidélité played. The set was just ending, and Camille waved the leader over to a table.

“Fidel! Can you join us?”

“If you promise to join me later.”

“I’ll think about it. First, let me introduce you to Inspector Richard Poole, from the London Police. He’s also got Bahamas papers, so he has jurisdiction over the investigation. Inspector Poole, this is Fidel Best, piano player and leader of Haute Fidélité. And, sadly, the man who found Edgerton.”

The men shook hands and all three sat down.

“I’m not sure this is the best place,” Richard began.

“It will be fine,” said Camille. She looked up to see a waiter approaching. “Let’s order first.”

“Nothing for me,” said Richard. “Unless _comme il faut_ extends to the lounges?”

Doing her best to ignore the sarcasm, Camille turned to the waiter and said, “Hi, Kevin. Orange rhum shrub for me and for Fidel, a Moderate Swell?”

“Yes, please,” Fidel laughed. 

Camille giggled, watching Richard try to think of an explanation for Moderate Swell.

Seeing Richard’s look of confusion, Fidel explained, “You may have heard of a Dark and Stormy, which is ginger beer and black seal rum. I prefer a medium amber rum in ginger ale. Camille decided it’s a calmer version, so she named it Moderate Swell, which means a lighter wave, somewhere between a stormy sea and dead calm. Try one.”

“Oh, all right,” Richard decided to take another stab at _comme il faut._ After the waiter left the table, he said, “Tell me about finding the body.”

“He was in a stairwell—”

“Start earlier. From when you left here after your last set.”

“Okay. We played very late. Not unusual the first night out. There are always some passengers who are excited about their cruise and want to make the most of every minute. So we stayed on with them. Hey, they were buying, and Kev and Jules were making good tips, so why not, you know? When we were done, I wanted some fresh air. I usually walk on deck at the end of the night. That goes back to before they stopped letting people smoke in the bars. I used to need to clear my lungs. I don’t need that now, but a bedtime stroll has become a habit.”

“Do you walk all the way around?”

“Sometimes. But not last night. We were making good knots and I walked on the port side and across the back, where it wasn’t too windy.”

“Did you see anyone on deck?”

“There was someone way forward on the starboard side. Dark suit is all I saw. I didn’t like how windy it was, so I turned back and stood watching the wake for a while.”

“It didn’t strike you as suspicious to see someone out so late?”

“I was out late, so why not him? He was just standing there, smoking. At least he looked like he was.”

Richard immediately turned to Camille, “Are there ashtrays or other receptacles? Did you look for cigarette ends?”

“Yes. They had been cleaned when the deck was tidied around dinner time. There was nothing new in the receptacles.”

“He probably flicked it overboard,” said Fidel shaking his head. “They’re told not to, but people still do it. Started a hell of a fire on a ship a few years ago.”

“To get back to last night?”

“Oh, sorry, I—thanks, Kev.” Fidel waited until the waiter had deposited their drinks and left the table before continuing. “I don’t know how long I stood at the back, but when I was ready to go in, I walked forward to the stairwell because it’s the closest stairs to my cabin. I was two steps down when I saw him. I ran down to try to feel for a pulse, but I couldn’t find one. He didn’t seem to be breathing, but he was still warm. I went back up to the landing where there’s a house phone, and called security. I stayed where I was until they arrived. With all the cop shows, I knew that the number one rule is don’t touch anything. So except for feeling for a pulse I didn’t touch anything. The whole thing probably took less time than it takes me to tell you.”

“Thank you, Fidel. I appreciate your help.”

“Even though it probably wasn’t any help.”

Richard shrugged, “Probably not. But you never know.”

Fidel stood, “Well, I want to talk to the guys before our next set. Nice to meet you, Inspector. _Later,_ Camille.”

“So what’s _later?_ ” Richard asked.

“Nothing.” Camille shrugged. Richard wondered if a relationship between crew members was allowed. He was going to ask if Camille and Fidel were involved when she interrupted his thoughts by asking how he liked the drink.

“It’s good. I’ve never been much of a rum drinker. Or spirits in general. Left to my own devices, I’d have a beer.”

“But this rum is special. It’s rhum agricole, made from sugar instead of molasses. Best rum in the world. My liqueur is made from rhum agricole. It comes from Martinique, one of the islands we will visit. Martinique is French, very beautiful. You should take a tour while we’re there.”

“I suppose they speak French?”

“Bier sûr! Martinique is a department of France, not a colony. An actual part of France. It’s a lovely island. But people do speak English as well. At least the tour guides will.”

“Hmm, I’ll think about it.”

“Mon Dieu! What a xenophobe you are!”

Richard shrugged and drank more of his Moderate Swell.

“If you want to go, it’s okay. Take your drink back to your cabin. You can finish it while you get ready for bed. Oh, that’s right,” she said wickedly, “You don’t have to do much to get ready, you don’t have any pajamas.”

Richard scowled. “If you haven’t any more jokes to make at my expense, I think I will go. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Then go. You don’t need to play the gentleman and stay with me. I come down here on my own a lot. Fidel and the guys are terrific. Some evening when you aren’t tired, you should give them a try.”

“I might. What time do we start tomorrow?”

“Half past eight. You can have breakfast in the dining room. It’s open seating at breakfast. That means you can sit anywhere. Or you can eat at the buffet. We’re going to be looking at security video first, so have plenty of coffee.”

“Oh, um…”

Camille sighed, “What now?”

“I drink tea at breakfast.”

“Well don’t tell me, tell your waiter. I’m sure they can make tea for you. Just explain about the boiling water.”

Not sure if Camille was being sarcastic or serious, Richard said goodnight and left.

-o-o-o-o-

After Haute Fidélité finished their set, Camille waved goodnight to Fidel and went to a different bar. Unlike the Wave Lounge, with its cool blue and green tones and mellow vibe, the Windjammer Bar was brightly decorated and had a lively atmosphere. A DJ queued up tunes, and some of the younger passengers were dancing. Camille perched on a stool at the end of the bar. The bartender greeted her with a smile.

“Well, look who’s here! I thought you might stop by this afternoon for a chat. It’s probably good that you didn’t. The word was that security were keeping people on board, so you might not have been welcome. What happened?”

“Catherine, I can’t believe you don’t know. You always know everything.” Camille was interested in finding out how much the bartender knew. Catherine seemed to have a connection to every grapevine on the ship. If she hadn’t heard gossip about a murder, that gossip didn’t exist.

“I did hear a passenger was taken off the ship because he was very ill. But what does that have to do with security?”

“We assisted in the transfer. But the reason we didn’t dock was a problem was at the pier. All the incoming passengers and their luggage had to tender. We couldn’t handle that and a full day of tendering for such a short stop.”

“It was good for business. The shops and casino were closed, so a lot of passengers ended up here. It was a nice day. People were sitting on the deck and coming in here for drinks.”

“I was busy all day. We’ve got a guest detective from London, doing a training exercise. I’m supposed to investigate a fake murder and he’s here to tell me I’m doing everything wrong.”

“Is he as bad as that?”

“Oh, he’s worse than you can imagine. He doesn’t like anything French, especially me. While we were going over the crime scene, before I could tell him anything I’d done, what my usual procedure should be, he was telling me I should have done this or I should have done that. He just assumes I’ve done things wrong.”

“Oh, dear.”

“And he lectures! About EVERYTHING!”

“Hey now, what’s got Camille’s knickers in a twist?” Dwayne Meyers, the Cruise Director, walked up to Camille and gave her a hug.

“She has a new man in her life,” said Catherine with a wink.

“Not funny, Catherine.”

“I’m wounded!” Dwayne clapped his hand over his heart. “You’re replacing me as the love of your life and the illumination of your existence?”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Camille laughed. “I was just telling Catherine that I’ve got to work with a visiting English detective on a training exercise.”

“Oh, right. They told me that you and a guest were going to be at the Oval tonight. I was supposed to host, but one of the entertainers was having technical issues. And it was a bit of a scramble, since my department had to throw together extra activities for the afternoon. I don’t know why they even put me on the roster for the Oval. Dinner time is my chance to do a last-minute check on the evening’s entertainment. Taking a couple hours out to play host just doesn’t work. Who took my seat?”

“Chief Patterson.”

Catherine bit her lip to stop laughing and went off to serve a customer. Dwayne smirked.

“Go ahead. Laugh. There I was, with my boss and a bunch of passengers, and I had to be nice to this… IMPOSSIBLE man! He insulted French tea, French beer, French food. He had tarte tatin for dessert, but insisted on calling it apple pie. He’s a… I don’t know… a heathen!”

Dwayne laughed. “You need to blow off some steam. Come on, let’s have a quick dance before I have to get down to the showroom to close the first show.”

Camille followed Dwayne to the dance floor, and they danced for a few minutes until his pocket buzzed.

He turned off his phone alarm and said, “Oops, gotta bounce.”

“I’ll walk you down,” said Camille. She waved goodnight to Catherine, and followed Dwayne out of the bar. When they got to the stage door, they could hear the orchestra playing.

“That’s her last number, so I’m on in a minute. See you around, Camille. Hey, don’t go falling in love with this new guy,” Dwayne grinned.

“Ha! That’s as likely as you outgrowing being a smartass.”

Dwayne went backstage and Camille walked through a door, from the plush carpeted passenger area to the serviceable tile floor of a crew area. It wasn’t late, but she was tired. She was ready to kick her shoes off and put up her feet. Lie in her bed and watch one of her DVDs. Something in French as an antidote to that annoying Englishman!

“Ah, Camille!” her boss’s voice halted her in her tracks. Merde! She’d almost made it to her cabin.

“Sir?”

“If you would give me a brief progress report?”

“We looked at the crime scene, looked at the body, searched the room, talked to Fidel.”

“And?”

“The great and wonderful Inspector found nothing additional. Mostly he spent time telling me all the things I should have done. And I’d like to point out that I had already done them. Really, sir, I don’t think he’s going to be of any use beyond the jurisdiction thing. Can’t we just park him in a deck chair somewhere and let me get on with my job?”

“I’m sorry, Camille, but working with him _is_ your job on this voyage.”

“But he’s so difficult! And annoying. He insults everything French. You heard him in the Wardroom, afraid that the beer would be French. He tried to tell me that the French don’t know how to make tea. He lectured me constantly. Sir, I can’t work with him.”

“Of course you can. Be nice. It was naughty of you to make him wear his PFD on deck. You know we’ve stopped asking passengers to carry them to the Emergency Drill.”

Camille looked at her shoes and shrugged. Then she turned defiant and said, “After I put up with his pompous arrogance all afternoon, I needed to do something. I will work with him because I have to, but if he doesn’t ease up, you’re going to find him at the bottom of a staircase like Edgerton. Unless I feed him to the sharks instead!”

Patterson shook his head. Camille was good at her job and good with passengers, even difficult ones. This English detective did seem a bit of a tightass, but not enough to make her this cranky. Ah well, some people were just not destined to be friends. But they could be civil. 

“Just make a little effort to be pleasant, Camille. And once the case is solved, we can park him in a deck chair with the largest pot of tea the ship can provide. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sir.”


	9. Chapter 9

Camille woke early. She knelt on her bed and looked out her porthole. The sea looked fairly calm, and it looked like it was going to be a sunny day. She turned on the TV’s information channel while she pulled on running clothes and trainers. She checked her watch against ship’s time, and waited for the weather page to come on. Yes, a nice day. Too bad it would be ruined the minute Inspector Poole opened his mouth.

Ten laps on deck left her feeling invigorated. She walked another lap to cool down. A man thudding heavily along the deck nearly ran into her.

“Sorry!” he said, and stopped. Camille recognized the man as the ship’s priest. They usually signed on for just one voyage, placed by an agency as were many lecturers. For some reason, this one was doing a full month. Camille had been at his Sunday Mass last week. His sermon left a lot to be desired.

“Other way, Father Collins,” she said, pointing to the large arrow painted on the wall. “We can’t have you running over passengers, now can we?”

“Oh, that way feels wrong to me. Must have to do with the way we go through roundabouts in England.”

“Well, whatever the reason, please try to go the right way.”

He thudded on his way and Camille sighed. Was she destined to be annoyed by Englishmen wherever she went?

Camille returned to her cabin to shower and dress for the day. Her cabin was tiny, just a bit wider than her armspan. The bathroom was miniscule. But it was all hers. Most crew members had to share accommodations. Her grade was just high enough to be entitled to a single. She put on her skirt and uniform shirt. She made certain that her name tag was straight and went to breakfast.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard slept fitfully. Even with the thermostat turned way down, it had been hot in the cabin all night. He took a quick shower and dressed in his suit. He looked at the trousers that Camille had made him purchase. Khakis were too informal for a work day. Maybe he’d wear them on a port day, but today was not a day off.

He went out on deck for some fresh air. It was windy—a result of the ship’s motion as much as the weather—but not too cold. Several joggers ran by, followed by a group of older women walking briskly. He took a deep breath. The sea air was invigorating. He regretted not packing trainers and running clothes. Damn the Gov for not being clear about how long his trip would be!

Having heard stories of the scrum that was a ship’s buffet, Richard opted for the dining room. He asked to be seated by himself, as he was not in the mood for early-morning chatter. He ordered tea and looked at the menu. 

When the waiter brought his tea, Richard was surprised at how good it was. There must be someone from England in the kitchen, he thought. He studied a copy of the ship’s deck plan as he waited for his eggs and toast to arrive. Crew areas were not detailed on the plan he had, but were shown as blank areas. He could see where Edgerton had been killed. He took out a pen and marked the passenger exits to the open deck. He wondered what route the killer had taken, and if the morning’s review of security footage would tell them anything.

After breakfast, Richard returned to his cabin. He was dismayed to discover the door was open and workers were inside, ripping out the carpet.

“Excuse me,” he said in his best Detective Inspector voice. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re putting in new carpet.”

“But this is my cabin.”

“Sorry, sir, you must be lost. Maybe your cabin is aft on Four? This is Deck Five. The cabins along here are not occupied for this cruise because they are scheduled for renovation.”

“This is my cabin, my things are in it, and I was not told that any work was to be done here.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, sir. We’re doing all these cabins this week.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille set her coffee mug down and huffed. “He’s lost. What do you bet he’s lost but he won’t ask directions? Five euros says he got lost trying to find us.”

“He’s only a few minutes late, Camille. It isn’t like you to get so upset. What is it about this guy?” Joe asked.

“Oh, where do I start? He’s condescending, pedantic, thinks he knows everything. I’ve known him less than 24 hours and already he has explained the difference between a boat and a ship, given me a lecture on how to make tea, insisted that La Manche is the English Channel, and pointed out sixteen ways I could have done the investigation better so far.”

Camille’s phone rang. “Come on, Joe, five euros.”

“Just answer it, Camille.”

Camille picked up the phone and asked, “Are you lost?”

_“No. I’m still at my cabin.”_

“Goodness, I’d have thought you would be the type who is always early for work.”

_“I would have been, but I’ve got a situation to deal with.”_

“If there’s a problem with your cabin, call your steward.” She rolled her eyes.

_“I think I need someone higher, it’s a jurisdictional problem.”_

“What does that mean?”

_“There are some workmen here, ripping out the carpet. I don’t think my steward is authorized to issue a cease and desist order.”_

“I’ll be right there.” Camille ended the call and explained to Joe that she needed to sort out the Inspector’s problems. 

On her way to Richard’s cabin, Camille called the Hotel Manager. They arrived at the same time, and Camille introduced the men. The Hotel Manager apologized, saying that Richard should never have been given that cabin.

“These cabins weren’t sold because the renovation was planned for this voyage. Surely you noticed that it was sparsely furnished? Anything movable had already been taken out in anticipation of the work.”

“That explains why there wasn’t even a desk chair.”

“Yes, exactly. Clearly, you can’t stay here. We will find you other accommodation. I will have to look at the booking records to see what’s available.”

“Then I’ll pack my things,” said Ricahrd.

“Oh, no, you won’t need to do that. We’ll have a steward move your clothes to your new stateroom. In the meantime, the workers will start on a different cabin and lock this one until your things have been moved.”

“I don’t have much with me, so it will just take a minute to pack.” Richard opened the safe and removed his passport and mobile. He put them and his laptop into his briefcase, and pulled his suitcase from under the bed.

The hotel manager left to find Richard somewhere to stay. Camille watched Richard pack.

“Just leave it on the bed,” said Camille. “The steward will see that it gets moved.”

“I hope so. This is getting curiouser and curiouser. Twenty-four hours ago, I was at work in London. I had to pelt down to Dover with almost no notice, and now I find myself on a ship at sea. I understand how the men taken by the press gangs felt.”

“What is a press gang?” Camille asked as they walked to the security office.

“It’s short for impressement. Something between a military draft and kidnapping. Sailors would be taken by force and made to work on a naval vessel.”

“That’s how the English staff their navy?”

“Of course not. That doesn’t happen now. We’re talking about centuries ago. And it wasn’t just the British. Did you ever hear the expression to be shanghaid? That came from cities on the American west coast, where men were drugged or kidnapped and found themselves at sea. One theory on the name is that many of the ships on which that happened were headed for Shanghai, a major trading port of the time.”

“I’m sorry you feel Shanghaid.”

“Not your fault. It was poor communication somewhere, probably with my boss. He said I’d be away just a few days. If I’d known I was going to end up on a ship, I would have packed more clothing.”

“You can send things out to the laundry. Or, if you’re brave, try the launderette.” 

“I know how to do laundry.”

Camille laughed, “That isn’t what I meant. The launderettes are infamous. Someone leaves their stuff in the dryer, so someone else takes it out and dumps it in a pile in laundry basket. Then the person whose clothes got moved finally shows up and gets angry. We’ve been called to get people out before an argument gets physical.”

“You’re making this up!” Richard looked skeptical.

“No. There’s something about the small space and limited resources that makes people cranky. If there’s a fight in a launderette on this trip, I’ll be sure to call you so you can see it first hand.” 

When they reached the security office, Camille greeted Joe and Charlie. Joe had security video queued up and ready to watch. Camille asked Charlie to tell Richard a launderette story.

“Oh, let’s see. There isn’t much room, and with four machines, there might be four people in the launderette, more if people are waiting. But there aren’t four chairs, so snagging a chair is a big deal. Well, this one woman, little thing she was, too, she sat on one chair and put her knitting bag on the chair next to it. Someone asked her to move her bag and she refused, saying her friend was sitting there. And the other person pointed out that the friend wasn’t there, so she—the other person, that is—could sit there until the friend arrived. The little woman got very nasty. Voices were raised and people in a nearby cabin called us.”

“Told you,” Camille grinned at Richard.

“I’m off on a walk,” said Charlie. “Enjoy the videos. Hot stuff!”

“What do you have for us?” Camille asked Joe, and they sat down in front of the monitors.

Two hours and a large carafe of coffee later, they had confirmed the existence of Fidel’s smoking man, but could not get a good image of him or find him on a hallway camera.

“Brilliant,” Richard grumbled. “Average height, average build, we don’t know hair color because he was wearing a cap. How many passengers do you reckon this could be?”

“It was a long shot,” said Camille. “Joe, play that part where he walks away. Is there anything unusual about his walk?”

“No,” said Richard after they watched the video. “Another thing that’s ordinary.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard suggested they go up on deck to have a look at the area where the man was seen, hoping it might give them an idea of what to do next. They walked aft toward where Fidel stood when he saw the man, looking at possible places where the man might have entered the ship. Nothing they saw on deck added to what they already knew. 

Richard sighed, “I probably should email an update to my station. Not that we’ve got much to report, but I’m supposed to keep my boss informed.”

“We’ve set you up with a computer in the office so you can—oh.” Camille’s phone buzzed, and she looked at the screen. “You’ve got a new cabin assignment. You can pick up your new key card at the Purser’s desk. 

“Where is it?”

“Lower level of the atrium. We were there yesterday, remember?”

“No, not the Purser, my new cabin.”

Camille scrolled through the text and her eyes widened. “I don’t believe it!”


	10. Chapter 10

Camille stared at the screen of her phone.

“Camille?” asked Richard. “Where did they put me?”

“They’ve given you Edgerton’s suite!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, eleven forty-one. Do you know how lucky you are? The bed in that suite is the size of my whole cabin!”

“Oh, it can’t be that big.”

“Ha! My cabin is about 2 meters by 2 meters. The bed in that suite is nearly that large. Didn’t you look in the bedroom while we were searching?”

“I was busy with the desk. I thought the only thing you noticed in the bedroom was Mrs. Edgerton’s jewelry.”

“You heard Marcia Davidson comment on it. Big rock on the finger, expensive bracelet. It was serious bling. And, before you ask, I did NOT try any of it on.”

“I wasn’t going to accuse you of—”

“Oh, please! You made me inventory the safe in front of Mrs. Edgerton.”

“Standard procedure, Camille, you know that. Look, we’re out of leads at the moment. I want to check that my clothes, few though they are, made it to the cabin.”

“Suite.”

“Right, suite.” Richard watched a jogger go by. “I wish I had brought my trainers. If I’m going to keep eating like I did last night, I’ll gain a stone before this is over.”

“Trainers?”

“Running shoes.”

“Oh. What do shoes have to do with stones? Have you had a history of gallstones?”

“No. A stone is a unit of weight, equal to fourteen pounds.”

“That’s a funny unit.”

“We only use it to refer to body weight. It goes back to the middle ages, when goods that were traded were weighed against a stone. Of course, the disadvantage…”

Camille half listened as Richard nattered on about stones and standards of measurement. When he got to the metric system, she said, “Of course I know about that. The standard kilogram is kept in a vault near Paris. The French used the metric system long before the British did.”

Someone nearby lit a cigarette, and Camille wrinkled her nose. “Let’s go inside.”

“Is he allowed to smoke here?”

“Yes, it’s one of the few smoking areas on the ship. I hate the smell of smoke, but I do sort of feel sorry for the smokers. If it’s cold or rainy, they have to huddle out on deck 

They walked inside, and while they waited for the lift, Camille reminded Richard to check that his dinner suit was in the suite, as it was formal night, and he would need it. 

“Dinner at half seven again?”

“Yes. I’ll pick you up here around six, is that all right? We can try the Windjammer Bar.” 

-o-o-o-o-

Camille arrived at Richard’s suite promptly at six. He opened the door and stood mute at the sight of her in a slinky green gown. He stared for a minute, then recovered.

“You look stunning. I expected you’d be in uniform.”

“Women on staff wear gowns if they’re attending formal night functions. The women on the Cruise Director’s staff will be in gowns. The men on his staff will be in dinner suits. The officers will be in dress uniforms, sometimes called mess dress. And that will include the Second Officer, in the woman’s version of that. You’ll see, at the reception.”

“Reception?”

“Yes, Captain’s Welcome Reception, another cruise tradition. You can get your picture taken with the captain. Lots of passengers like to buy those pictures. Oh,” Camille held out a small shopping bag. “Here are some extra clothes, from the crew shop. I was going to ask the guys in Security if anyone could lend you shoes, um?”

“Trainers?”

“Right, trainers. But I don’t know your shoe size.”

“Thank you, Camille, that’s kind of you.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, I see you received Level One apology.” 

“What’s that?”

“The berries.” Camille pointed to the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries. “That’s what we send passengers for minor complaints. I would think finding your cabin under renovation would be worth at least a bottle of wine. But I suppose giving you a fancy suite is compensation enough.” 

“Would you like one?”

“You don’t want them?”

“Not right now.”

Camille took one then handed the plate to Richard. “Put them in the fridge for later. They go soft quickly.”

Richard watched as Camille as she leaned her head back, put the strawberry into her mouth and, closed her eyes. 

“Mmmmm,” she murmured. Richard took advantage of her closed eyes to look her over. How had he not noticed how beautiful she was? Perhaps the uniforms were designed to hide the female officer’s curves. Good thing, too, because in that dress, Camille was definitely distracting. He managed to turn away and busy himself with the fridge before she opened her eyes.

He turned back to her and said, “Are we ready to go?”

“Yes. No!” She tugged on his tie.

“Christ, Camille! I finally got it tied, and you just ruined it.”

“It was uneven. Let me,” Camille stepped closer and retied Richard’s bow tie. He watched her face as she concentrated on what she was doing. She appeared to be wearing more makeup than she had during the day. His eyes drifted downward. Standing that close he had a good look at her cleavage. She wasn’t generously endowed, but she did have a nice figure. She pushed his chin up suddenly.

“Chin up, I can’t see what I’m doing.”

Richard realized he’d dodged a bullet. If she’d known he’d been ogling her chest, she’d probably have used the tie to strangle him.

“Hmph!” she said. “That’s the best I can do. This is a terrible tie, the silk is too soft and slippery.”

“That’s why it took me so long in the first place. I do know how to tie a proper bow tie.”

Camille straightened the tie one last time, then smoothed the lapels of the jacket. He wasn’t terribly tall, but he had nice shoulders and seemed reasonably fit. She stepped back to get a better overall look. Damn, the man looked good in formal wear. Of course, it didn’t hurt that this suit fit him better than his own suit. Camille concluded that Richard must not have a significant other to tell him what looks good and what doesn’t.

“So?” he asked. “Is the inspection over?”

“You’ll do.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard had not yet found the Windjammer Bar, so Camille led the way. He was surprised when she perched on a barstool rather than sit at a table. 

“This is very different from the Wave Lounge,” he said, noticing the bright colors and floor-to ceiling windows overlooking a deck area.

“Yes. The Wave is mellow, laid-back. This place gets lively as the evening goes on.”

“It’s quiet now.”

“It’s early. And the bars do see a dip on the night of the Captain’s reception. Why pay for a drink when you know you’ll be given one at the reception?”

“Yes, and people are still in their staterooms primping,” said the bartender as she walked over to them. She smiled at Camille and raised her eyebrows, “Bon soir, ma chère. C’est lui?”

“Bon soir, Catherine,” Camille replied as she nodded ever-so-slightly. “This is Inspector Richard Poole, from London. He’s here for a training exercise to improve our security team. Inspector, this is Catherine, head bartender for the Windjammer.”

“Good evening, Inspector,” Catherine smiled.

“Good evening,” he replied, a bit uncomfortable at the way the woman was scrutinizing him. 

“Catherine is the best bartender on the ship,” said Camille. “And she’s everyone’s _maman._ ”

“Camille! I am _not_ old enough—”

“to be my mother,” Camille completed the sentence and laughed. “True, but we all come to you with our little woes, so you’re like a mother to me.”

“People always talk to bartenders,” Catherine replied. “Isn’t that true in London, Inspector?”

“I suppose it is, especially if you go into a pub alone. You know, don’t want to be the one sitting all alone. Sitting at the bar and chatting with the bartender is less awkward, especially if the place isn’t busy.”

“Exactly! And if it’s late and you’re lonely, well, I seem to be a sympathetic ear. What’s that song Camille?”

“A quarter to three, no one in the place except you and me,” she sang.

“That’s the one. Anyway, what can I get you?”

“I’ll have a ti’punch, please,” said Camille.

“Inspector?”

Richard looked past Catherine at the back of the bar. Although a good beer was his favorite drink, the evening seemed to call for something better than that. 

“Martini, shaken not stirred?” said a smirking Catherine.

“No. Why did you think that?”

“It’s the James Bond fantasy. You’re in a dinner suit, beautiful woman beside you, maybe later, she’ll untie your tie…” the lift of Catherine’s voice was definitely suggestive.

“She’s already done that.”

Now it was Catherine’s eyebrows that lifted.

“I just did that to retie it. He had it uneven,” said Camille quickly.

“Can’t you tie a bow tie, inspector?” Catherine asked.

“Yes, of course I can. This one is a slippery fabric, so it was difficult.” Seeing Camille’s skeptical look, he added, “We had formals at university, and I could always tie my tie. Had to tie more than one friend’s tie, too. It was one of my rare moments of social superiority.”

“Good for you!” Catherine smiled. “Now, your drink?”

“Do I see a single malt back there?”

“We have a few. The Wave Lounge has a wider selection. Do you have a favorite?”

“No. You choose.” Richard smiled, confident that he would be getting a product of the United Kingdom.

Catherine walked away to pour their drinks. 

“Do different bars have different stock?” Richard asked.

“Yes,” Camille replied. “All of our bars can make the most common drinks. You’ll see more rum and vodka here, for making party drinks. The mellower sipping stuff, like your whisky, goes with the atmosphere in the Wave.”

“And what’s that?” Richard asked as Catherine set down the drinks.

“Rum punch.” Camille held up the drink. “A votre santé!”

“Cheers!” Richard lightly touched his glass to hers. He tasted his whisky and smiled, “Ah, a taste of home!”

“Inspector,” Catherine smiled and winked at Camille, “I didn’t know you were from Brittany!”

“I’m not. I’m English.”

“Ah, but your whisky is French.”

“No, the French don’t make whisky.”

“Mais oui, they do!” Catherine turned around and picked up the bottle. She held it out for Richard to look at. Camille leaned her elbow on the bar and watched Richard’s face. He seemed to be struggling with the concept of French whisky.

“So?” Camille asked.

“It’s good,” said Richard, the disbelief apparent in his voice.

“Of course it is!” Catherine poured a little extra into his glass. “You get a bonus for being so smart.”

“Well, you just made a friend!” Camille said, as Catherine walked to greet another customer. 

“I didn’t mean to. No. Wait. That came out wrong. I mean, I wasn’t trying, I just told the truth. This actually is quite nice. A hint of sweetness not found in our single malts, but very nice.”

“So you don’t hate everything French, then?”

“I don’t _hate_ everything French,” Richard huffed. “I just dislike some things.”

“Ah, let’s see, French tea, French beer, tarte tatin.”

“I didn’t hate the tarte tatin. I never said that. In fact, I said that it was very good apple pie.”

Camille growled and took a large swallow of her drink.”

“So what exactly are you knocking back?” Richard asked.

“It’s rum, lime juice, a little sugar, and ice.”

“Sounds like a daiquiri.”

“Similar, but this is made with rhum agricole. And guess who thought of using cane sugar instead of molasses to make rum?”

“Oh, gosh, let me think,” Richard said sarcastically. “Could it have been the French?”

“Of course! That’s why it’s so good. Drink up, inspector. We’ve got a reception to go to.”


	11. Chapter 11

The queue snaked from the Grand Lounge, around a corner, and down a hallway. 

“How long will this take?” asked Richard, gesturing toward the queue of passengers waiting to enter the reception.

“Forever. But we don’t have to go in that way. Come on.” Camille took Richard down a different hallway to the alternate door to the Grand Lounge.

“Bon soir, Michel!” she said to a young man who appeared to be guarding the door.

“Camille! Sneaking in the back way again, are you?”

“We’ve already met the captain, and we don’t need a photo op. Are you letting people opt out of the receiving line?”

“Yes. I’m here to let people know that if they come in this way they won’t meet the captain.”

“As I said, we’ve met him. So I’ll tell Dwayne you did your duty.”

“Merci, Camille.”

Richard was impressed by the Grand Lounge. It certainly was grand, with its double-height ceiling, large dance floor, and tastefully arranged furniture. Although he generally paid little attention to clothing, Richard did notice that everyone was in formal dress. He hated to admit it, but Camille had been right to make him get the formal suit. As they walked into the room, a white-gloved waiter handed them glasses of champagne.

“I don’t know about this,” Richard said as they walked toward some chairs.

“What don’t you know about what?” Camille asked.

“Champagne on top of whisky? Or, in your case, rum?”

“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s all the same stuff. C two H five O H.”

“I’m impressed!” said Richard. “Did you study organic chemistry?”

“No. It’s just one of the few formulas I can remember from my general chemistry course at university.” Camille grinned at him and added, “I guess you remember things that you like.”

Camille usually attended functions like this on her own. It was nice to have an escort for a change, even if he was an annoying Englishman. She slipped her arm through Richard’s and they made their way through the room. She introduced him to a few officers and some of the cruise director’s staff. They were chatting with the ship’s doctor when a waiter stopped with a tray loaded with champagne flutes. Camille took a fresh glass and the doctor did the same. When Camille held out a glass for Richard, he shook his head. She took his half-empty glass and set it on a nearby table and put the fresh glass into his hand.

“But—”

“You’re running out of bubbles! Just take this.” 

Richard wondered if the C2H5OH was getting to him. He was starting to find her bossiness rather cute.

“Ah! Inspector, Camille!” Richard heard the now-familiar voice behind him. Patterson smiled and said, “You two look elegant tonight.”

“Thank you, sir,” Camille smiled.

“Thank you,” said Richard. “I must say, this takes me back. We used to have formals at university. Everyone dressed up, an orchestra playing, it’s lovely.”

“You should take advantage of the music. Go have a dance!”

“Oh, I don’t think, um…”

“Oh, go on,” Patterson urged. 

Richard sighed. He hadn’t danced in ages, but it would get him away from Patterson. Richard didn’t know if it was the man’s height, or bulk, or deep voice, but Patterson could be very intimidating. So Richard held out his hand, and Camille took it. 

“Sorry,” she said, as they walked toward the dance floor. “If you don’t want to, we can just slip across the room and get lost in the crowd.”

“No, it’s fine.” They had reached the dance floor, and Richard pulled Camille into his arms. “It’s just that Patterson says things as if he’s making a suggestion, but you kind of know it’s an order.”

“You just summed up my boss in one sentence.” Camille looked up at Richard and they both laughed. A flash went off and Richard turned his head suddenly.

“What was that?”

“Photographers. After they finish the receiving line pictures, they take candids. You’ll be able to see it in the photo shop tomorrow. Frankly, I think the pictures are overpriced, but people do buy them. It makes a nice souvenir. You can pose for a portrait at various places around the ship, too.”

“Oh. I don’t think I’ll pose for any portraits while I’m here. I mean, this is work.” Whether it was the C2H5OH or the fact that Camille was a good dance partner, Richard wasn’t sure. But he felt very comfortable dancing with her. Then he realized what he’d just said and added, “Not that _this_ feels like work. This is, um… It’s just, you know, I’m not on holiday like everyone else.”

Before Camille could reply, the music stopped, and the orchestra leader introduced the first speaker.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome our cruise director, Dwayne Meyers!”

Dwayne walked onto the stage, microphone in hand. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! My, my, don’t you all look lovely. Thank you for taking part in our formal evening. It adds so much to the ambiance when everyone follows our suggested dress for the evening. It is now my great pleasure to introduce the Master of _Ile Marie,_ Captain Jean-Luc Bouchard!”

Everyone applauded as the captain took the stage. 

“Bon soir! Good evening! I am delighted to see you all this evening. And I have to echo Dwayne’s sentiments. You look magnifique! It is always a pleasure to have an opportunity to meet our guests. I hope you have enjoyed your day at sea today. We have several more sea days, and I am pleased to say that _most_ of those days will be beautiful. Unfortunately, tomorrow will not be one of them.” He paused while the guests groaned.

“We are going to pass through a line of storms. It will be windy, and that will cause some waves. So expect some motion tomorrow. Please remember to use caution when moving around. Use the handrails on the stairs. If it gets too windy, we may have to close access to the open decks. But there will be plenty to do indoors. And before we get to tomorrow, we have a festive evening for you tonight. Dwayne will give you a few highlights.” The captain handed the microphone back to Dwayne.

“Thank you, Captain. We certainly do have a full evening of entertainment. There’s a production show in the theatre, dancing in here, jazz in the Wave Lounge, and it’s always a party in the Windjammer Bar! And, of course, the casino is open and accepting donations!”

The often-used cruise director’s joke got a laugh, and Dwayne continued, “So whatever you do, enjoy your evening. I’m told that dinner is now being served, so bon appetit!”

Passengers began to file out of the lounge, but Camille held Richard back so that she could introduce him to Dwayne.

Dwayne smiled when he saw Camille, “Ah, my lovely Camille! You are a vision tonight. But then, you’re always a vision.”

“Flatterer!” she laughed. Then she turned to Richard and said, “Inspector, this is our Cruise Director and chief flirt, Dwayne Meyers. Dwayne, Inspector Richard Poole.”

“Ah yes, I heard about you.” He paused when Camille subtly (she hoped) kicked his foot. “You’re here doing some sort of training exercise, I believe?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll see that Camille is as smart as she is beautiful. She’ll get top marks.” Dwayne looked at his watch. “Oops, you better go. You’ve got the hotman on the Oval tonight. You know how he likes to be on time. See you later, my darling. Inspector, nice to meet you.”

As they were leaving, Kevin, the Wave Lounge waiter came up to them. “How about one for the road?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Richard began.

“Hey, it’s been poured, we can’t put it back into the bottle.”

“Thanks, Kev,” Camille took two glasses and handed one to Richard. “Come on. We can sip as we walk.”

On the way to the dining room, Richard thought about Camille and the various men she’d talked to. Fidel last night, Dwayne tonight. And someone was a hot man? Was it just flirting, or did she have a parade of men in her life? He was beginning to think all those old reruns of Love Boat his mum enjoyed were barely scratching the surface of life on a cruise ship.

-o-o-o-o-

It turned out that “hotman” was an abbreviation for hotel manager, and not a description of some lover of Camille’s. The maître D’ introduced the officer to the group at the table, and a waiter distributed menus.

“Inspector Poole,” said the Hotel Manager, “Is your new accommodation satisfactory? I trust the carpets are intact?”

“Yes, thank you, it’s very nice. Quite a step up from my first cabin.”

“Good. I do apologize for the confusion. You should never have been given that first one. I’m glad the new one is an improvement.”

“Oh yes, and considering that I thought I might have to sleep on the floor in crew quarters, it was far better than I expected.”

Seeing the confused looks around the table, Richard explained the renovation problem. Camille was relieved that he made light of the problem, rather than returning to the irritation and confusion of the morning. He wasn’t a half bad storyteller. Perhaps it was the champagne on top of whisky. For a moment, she wondered if she should try getting him well and truly drunk. 

“So,” Jay Davidson asked when the laughter following Richard’s story died down, “Would it be tacky to ask the Hotel Manager for a menu suggestion?”

“The chefs do answer to me, but even I don’t know all the secrets of their recipes. And as an employee of the line, of course it behooves me to say that it’s all delicious. Taste is so subjective. It depends on what you like. I can tell you that our passengers are quite predictable. 75 percent will order the lobster.”

“Is it really that good?” Jay asked.

“It isn’t my first choice. But it’s a cruise tradition to serve lobster on one of the formal nights, and passengers see it as a special meal.”

“Not like this,” said Marcia Davidson, gesturing to her clothing. “The way to eat lobster is at a New England lobster pound, sitting at a picnic table when you’re in casual clothes and can get up to your elbows in melted butter.”

“I know what you mean,” said Camille. “There’s a bar on one of the islands we sometimes visit where they just plunk down a bucket of cooked shrimp and you shell it for yourself. Messy, but delicious.” She felt Richard shudder and asked, “What?”

“Ugh, I hate it when my food is served with the eyes. How can you eat something that’s staring back at you?”

“Don’t you like fish and chips?” she asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, sorry to tell you, Richard, but that fish had eyes.”

“Hey, as long as I don’t have them on my plate, I don’t mind.”

“I understand,” said Lorna Croft. "You like more of a separation between the creature and the meal on your plate.”

“Yes! Exactly! Thank you.”

“Oh, you city types,” grumbled Peter Croft. “Milk comes from a bottle, eggs come from a carton, and chicken isn’t covered in feathers, it’s covered in plastic!”

“Works for me,” Lorna laughed and Richard nodded in agreement.

“Because we aim to please everyone,” said the Hotel Manager. “You may have your lobster in the shell, or the waiters will remove the meat from the shell, so don’t be afraid to order the lobster.”

“So go on, Reecharrd,” Camille said, leaning to nudge him with her shoulder. “Have the lobster.”

Richard looked at her suspiciously. She was almost flirting with him. How many glasses of wine had she consumed?

“No,” he said. “Not when there’s rack of lamb on the menu. That’s one of my favorite meals.”

“Mine, too,” said the Hotel Manager. “It’s one of the more variable items. If we have a large number of Americans, we’ll see fewer orders for lamb. Apparently, it’s not as popular in the US as it is in Europe.”

“Lamb has a funny taste,” said Marcia, wrinkling her nose.

“Not if it’s cooked properly,” said Paulette Jourdin. “So many people overcook it. In France, we’ve always known to eat it cooked just to a nice medium pink.”

When Richard and the French couple joined him in ordering lamb, the Hotel Manager joked that they were skewing the data and the chefs would be surprised. Richard was surprised when Camille declined lobster, opting instead for canard à l’orange. 

The dinner progressed pleasantly. Several of the people at the table had attended a lecture on the history of the line, and this led to a discussion of the various ships people had sailed on. Richard was impressed with the amount of travel their tablemates had done. Somehow, family trips to a caravan in Clacton didn’t quite measure up. 

When Richard’s lamb was set in front of him, Camille quietly made little bleating sounds. 

“What?” Richard asked her.

“You’re eating a sweet little lamb.”

Richard glanced at Camille’s wine glass. How many times had the wine steward refilled it? 

“Says the woman who’s eating Donald Duck,” he whispered then wondered how many times his own glass had been refilled.

-o-o-o-o-

After dinner, Camille talked Richard into going to the production show in the theater. After that they went out on the Sundeck, an area at the top of the ship sheltered from winds. Busy during the day, it was empty at night.

“Did you like the show?” Camille asked. 

“The music was good, but it was over-amplified. At times I felt my ears were being assaulted. I wish they wouldn’t do that. I would like to keep my hearing as I move into my advanced age.”

“I know what you mean. I prefer Fidel’s music, but I thought you should see one of the big shows. All part of the experience,” Camille said as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Are you cold?”

“I don’t mind. It’s so nice up here, in the quiet. I often come here at night when I need to get away and think.”

“Here,” Richard took off his jacket and placed it around Camille’s shoulders.

“Thanks. You’ll be cold, though.”

“I think I stored up enough heat in one night in that little cabin that I’ll never feel cold again. And you’re right, it is nice up here. It’s quiet, and look at the stars! There’s so much light pollution in London, you can never see so many. Look, you can even see the Milky Way. I wish I could have brought Lucy.”

“Who’s Lucy? Your girlfriend?”

“My tel—oh, God this sounds so pathetic. Lucy is my telescope. She was a gift when I was still in school, and I decided to name her.”

“Lucy… oh! I get it. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds?”

“Hey, I was only fifteen.”

“What were you like at fifteen?”

“Lonely.” Richard was startled that he’d made such an admission. Camille said nothing, so he explained. “Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it, if I had a telescope instead of a girlfriend. I went to boarding school. Not the happiest moments of my life. But it was good academically. The science and history teachers were particularly interesting. A few of us would get together and use the school’s telescope. That’s where I got my interest in astronomy. Sorry, this probably isn’t very interesting. I should call it a night. We need to be clear-headed tomorrow, figure out what our next step is.”

As they crossed the deck to go inside, Richard stopped for a moment. “We are starting to get some motion, aren’t we?”

“A little.” 

They walked through a door and down a hallway. Richard watched a couple ahead of them walking an uneven path. He noticed that their veering matched the changing position of the ship as she rolled. He realized that he was starting to do it, too, but Camille wasn’t.

“You have great legs.”

“Thank you.” Camille was amused by the compliment.

“I mean, great sea legs. You, um, walk straight. You know, I mean a straight line. Those other people are weaving back and forth as the ship rolls. How do you avoid doing that? And you’re wearing high heels, too.”

“Practice, lots of practice,” Camille laughed. “Ah, this is you.”

“Oh, so it is.” 

Camille handed Richard his jacket and he fished out his key card. She reached up and tugged on his tie. 

“Hey!”

“In case anyone asks, you can say you got your tie untied. Bonne nuit!”

“Good night.” Richard opened his door, but didn’t go inside. He watched Camille walk down the hallway He told himself it was in the interest of science. He was only trying to see how she managed to keep to a straight line on a rolling ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who didn’t take organic chemistry, C2H5OH is ethyl alcohol.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, Camille was about to leave her cabin when she heard the knock on the door. She opened it to see a maintenance man with a large wrench in his hand.

“Aww, no,” she whined.

“Master’s orders. It’s going to be rough today.” He walked over to her bed and released the deadlight from its hook and fastened it over the porthole. As he finished tightening the bolts, they could hear a wave slap the side of the hull. He smiled and pointed to the deadlight.

“I know, I know, it has to be done,” Camille said. “But I miss having my little window. Ah well, I have to go to work today, no time to look out at the ocean.”

Before she went to breakfast, Camille looked around her cabin. She was not particularly neat by nature, but living in a small space made neatness a priority. She swept a few small items on the dresser into a drawer so that nothing would be on the floor when she returned. 

-o-o-o-o-

Most of the crew and officers were used to rough weather, and had seen worse than this, so the mess was busy. The Third Officer joked that on rough days, everyone ate a hearty breakfast—if they showed up for meals. 

“Yes,” the ship’s doctor replied, “I expect the Medical Center to be busy today. The Purser and stewards have a good supply of meclizine, and we’ve got our needles sharpened for the passengers who want the injection. So I’d best be going. Move around safely, please. I don’t want to see you at my office.”

“One hand for you, one hand for the ship,” the group at his table recited. 

-o-o-o-o-

Camille looked at her watch and sighed, “He’s late.” 

“Maybe he’s seasick,” said Charlie Nguna. “My cabinmate was looking kind of green this morning. I got out before he got sick. It’s sort of contagious, you know? I mean, up to a point you can talk yourself out of it, but if you see someone be sick—”

“Could we talk about something else, please?” another security officer asked.

“Like where the inspector is,” said Camille, reaching for the phone.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard scowled at the tie. Just the thought of putting it on made him feel worse. He supposed he could do without it just this once. Or he could put it on after breakfast. The thought of food drove all thoughts of the tie from his mind, and he bolted for the bathroom. 

He was splashing water on his face, trying to convince himself he’d be all right, when the phone rang.

“Hello?” he groaned.

_“You’re late. I thought you might be lost.”_

“If you thought I was lost, why did you call my room?”

_“I don’t know. I suppose I had to start somewhere. Are you coming down soon?”_

“I’m trying.”

_“Are you all right?”_

“I’m trying to decide.”

_“Mal de mer?”_

“Why does every bloody thing have to be French?”

_“So that’s a yes? Or is it the result of too much C two—?”_

“No. Not too much alcohol. Too much motion.”

_“Okay, go back to bed.”_

“But we need to work on the case.”

_“Not if you’re that sick. I’ll see what I can do today, and you can catch up tomorrow.”_

“But I should—”

_“Don’t make me come up there and put you under house arrest!”_

-o-o-o-o-

Patterson stood in the doorway listening to Camille’s side of the conversation.

“So, the inspector is feeling less than well this morning?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so, sir. We were going to figure out our next steps this morning. I’m not sure what we can do at this point. The next thing should be to go over the list of complaint letters, but Edgerton’s office hasn’t sent that yet.”

“Then let the case go for a day. We’re at sea, nobody else has been murdered, so I think it’s safe to assume Edgerton was a specific target and the killer is just waiting for a chance to get off the ship. You’ve got a few days before our next port.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The captain has informed me that he wants the outside decks closed. So that needs to be checked.”

“Not surprising,” said Camille. “My deadlight is closed already. I don’t mind doing the walk.”

“Not you, Camille. Charlie, do the walk and check that the exits have been properly signed.”

“Yes, sir.” Charlie stood and left the office.

“Camille, you should go check on Inspector Poole.”

“Sir, I’m not his nurse.”

“No. But he is our guest, so please check and see that he is as comfortable as possible.” Patterson nodded to his staff and left the room.

“Yeah, Camille,” Joe teased. “You can hold his hair back while he pukes.”

“He doesn’t have so much hair that he’ll need that,” she huffed as she left the office.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille knocked lightly on the door to Richard’s suite.

“Inspector?”

She knocked again.

“Richard?”

When there was no answer, she was tempted to leave him alone. But Patterson would ask how he was, so she used her master keycard and entered the suite. She looked in the bedroom, but didn’t see Richard. The light in the bathroom was on, so she called out softly.

“Inspector? Richard?”

“Camille?” came the voice from the bathroom. 

“How bad is it?”

“I’m trying to decide if I’m going to sick up again.”

“Don’t stay in there. It will force the decision. The smaller the space, the worse it feels.” Camille opened the drapes to the large bedroom windows. 

Richard walked out of the bathroom and groaned, “Oh, God, no. I don’t want to look at the ocean.

“Yes, you do. Don’t look at the waves. Look at the horizon. It helps, honestly.” 

“The motion has changed since last night.”

“Yes. Last night was more roll, side-to-side. Now we’re pitching. Our course has changed and we’re going straight into the winds. The ship has to work harder to fight the wind, and the head-on waves cause the front-to-back motion. One of the downsides to the suites is that they’re high up, where you feel the motion more.”

“That doesn’t seem right. Shouldn’t the more expensive cabins have a better ride?”

“Everyone wants to be high up. I think it’s carry over from hotel and apartment penthouses. Ironically, I have the best location for motion. Low and midships. I’d offer you my cabin, but it’s tiny and they’ve covered the porthole. The improvement in motion would be cancelled by the small space. You need a large space and light and a distant view. Fresh air would be nice, but they’re asking people to stay inside because it’s so windy.”

Seeing that Richard looked unsteady, Camille moved to the bed and piled up all the pillows and straightened the duvet.

“Don’t lie flat. Just recline on the pillows. Have you eaten anything?”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No. It’s good to keep a little something in your stomach if you can. If you think you can keep it down, we do have pills. Or you can go to the doctor for an injection.”

“No. The seasick meds make you drowsy. I need to work.”

“No, you don’t. Chief Patterson says to take the day off. Call room service for tea and toast. I’m going to get you a few natural remedies that may help. So go back to bed.”

“I’m not taking some strange herbal thing.”

“I’m not going to make you take anything. Just offering some suggestions. I’ll be gone for a few minutes. When I get back, I expect to see you undressed and in bed.”

“That sounds like an offer, but I’m too sick to think of a clever reply.”

Camille glared at him, snapped her fingers, and pointed to the bed. “I’ll call room service for you.”

-o-o-o-o-

When Camille returned, Richard had changed into an _Ile Marie_ crew t-shirt and was half sitting, half lying, in bed.

“Any better?” she asked.

Richard shrugged.

“Since you don’t want to take any medicines, you might try ginger. Don’t look so doubtful! Even the ship’s doctor swears by it. I got some candied ginger from the dining room. You may have seen it on the tray with the mints and truffles after dinner. Or if you don’t like that, have some ginger ale. Very soothing, and it will get some fluid into you. It’s important not to let yourself become dehydrated. Some people swear by green apples for mal de mer. I got you a few apples in case you want to try them. Or, since you’re English, you probably will prefer tea.”

As if on cue, a waiter knocked on the door. Camille answered and told the waiter to set the tray on a table. When he left, Camille inspected the tea pot.

“Is the water hot enough?” Richard called from the bedroom.

“Yes.” Camille rolled her eyes. Did he think nobody in the kitchen had ever made tea before?

“Did they put the tea bag in, or is it on the side?”

“It’s in the pot. I reminded them to do that when I called in the order.” Camille stirred the tea and removed two tea bags from the pot. She poured some tea into a cup, added a little sugar, and carried it to the bedside table.

“Try this. Little sips.”

“There’s no milk.”

“Try it without for your first cup.” She went into the bathroom and found a towel. “I’ll wrap this around the pot to keep it warm.”

“Take the bags out or it will get too strong.”

“Already done. See, French people do know how to make tea.” She covered the teapot and picked up a plate. “Here’s some toast.”

“I’ll get crumbs in the bed.”

“You are the crankiest man!” Camille huffed as she retrieved a large towel from the rack in the bathroom and set it on his chest. “Here, this will catch the crumbs. Anything else I can do?”

“You could cut the crusts off.”

“You are not Sheldon Cooper and I am not your mother! The toast is fine as it is.”

“Who?”

“Seriously? Don’t you watch TV?”

“Mostly news, football, cricket.”

“It would take too long to explain,” Camille said as she walked to the living room. She checked the mini fridge and saw that it contained a few cans of ginger ale. The plate of strawberries was still in there. Camille decided that she deserved a reward for taking care of Richard, so she ate one of them. She almost took another, but thought she would probably have to do more nursemaid duty. Knowing there was a treat waiting would make it a bit more bearable.

“You’ve got ginger ale in the fridge and there’s ice in your ice bucket. Can I get anything else for you before I go?”

“Where are you going?”

“Investigating the murder and waiting on you aren’t my only jobs. I have things to do. I’ll check in on you later.”

“Wait!”

“What?” Camille was about to start grinding her teeth again.

“I can’t find the clicker.”

“The what?”

“The clicker, the remote for the TV.”

Camille looked on the floor near the bed and saw the remote partly concealed by the bedskirt. She picked it up and handed it to Richard.

“Do you have enough strength to push the buttons?”

“Just barely,” Richard said, answering sarcasm with sarcasm.

“One last bit of advice. Don’t watch the view from the bridge. See you later.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard turned on the TV. He watched the information channel and learned that they were in the Atlantic Ocean. No surprise there. He saw the latitude and longitude, but other than recognizing that they were in the Northern Hemisphere and west of Greenwich, that didn’t tell him much. Weather and sea conditions were depressing. Three-meter swells sounded unpleasant. 

He scrolled through the various movie channels. Nothing looked terribly interesting. Finally, curiosity got the better of him and he looked at the channel called “View from the Bridge.” A camera on the front of the ship just above the bridge windows showed the ship’s bow and the sea. One cycle of the horizon moving up up up and then down down down, and he was queasy again. Relax, he told himself. It isn’t that bad, close your eyes, take deep breaths, make it go away. 

He settled on an old murder mystery movie on the classic films channel, leaned back, closed his eyes, and listened.

He must have dozed off, because when he woke Humphrey Bogart had been replaced by Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland. He found the remote and changed channels until he found a program about the history of navigation at sea. He was considering getting up to see if the tea was still warm when he heard Camille enter the suite and call his name.

“I’m awake,” he said. “Your timing is perfect. Since you’re here, would you pour another cup of tea for me?”

Camille uncovered the pot. “It’s tepid, and the toast is cold.”

“That’s all right.”

Camille made a big production out of removing the crumb towel, shaking it out in the bathroom, and carefully tucking it around Richard’s neck. Then she poured the tea. Ah, what the hell, she thought, and cut the crusts off the remaining piece of toast.

Richard looked at the plate and smiled. “Merci, Maman,” he said.

“Shut up and eat, Sheldon. What are you watching?” 

“It’s about the history of maritime navigation.”

“More history. What was it the other day? Stones and press gangs. How do you know all this?”

“I studied history at university. And I still love to read history books.”

“You didn’t always want to be a police officer, then?”

“No. I studied history because I liked it. I have to say I gave little thought to a career. I guess I thought I might be an academic, a professor eventually. But my father encouraged me to do something more useful, so that’s what I did.”

“So police work wasn’t your choice. Do you ever regret it?”

“Once in a while, early on, I had a few misgivings. But mostly I enjoy my work. Being a detective is interesting. I’ve always loved a good puzzle, even when I was a child. Puzzles are things you can do on your own.” Suddenly self-conscious, Richard said, “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“That’s all right.”

“What about you? What did you study?”

“Psychology. I found criminal psychology especially interesting. And from there, police work seemed a good thing to do. I like finding out how people think.”

“And from police detective to ship’s security?”

Camille shrugged, “Oh, that’s a long story. Tell you some other time. I should get back to work.”


	13. Chapter 13

“For exercise, for exercise, for exercise. In five minutes time, there will be a crew emergency drill. This is for exercise only, and will not involve passengers.”

Richard frowned. The announcement cut into the narration of the lecture on the history of the diamond industry. He’d been pleased to discover that the daytime lectures were recorded and played on the in-cabin entertainment system the next day. Since he was working, and not on holiday, he didn’t have the luxury of attending daytime entertainments.

“For exercise, for exercise, for exercise. Fire in crew stairway 3. Emergency teams report immediately. For exercise only. This is a drill.”

“I know it’s a drill,” Richard grumbled at the TV. “Now give me back my program!”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille stood by a small bin overflowing with bright red paper. She glanced at the stopwatch as she heard feet thundering down the stairs. Two crew members in full fire-safety gear arrived at the scene and she checked the time. Two more arrived 30 seconds later, just as one of the first arrivals finished spraying the bin with the contents of a fire extinguisher. 

“That’s good time,” said Camille.

The four firefighters continued the exercise by checking nearby areas where the “fire” might have spread or where smoke might have overcome someone. They found an “unconscious” waiter, checked his condition, and called for medical assistance. They read the note pinned to his shirt. It said “unconscious, but breathing,” so they did not have to pretend to administer CPR. 

Camille checked her watch when the medical team arrived and took charge of the “injured” crewman. 

“Okay, stand down. Good job, everyone!” Camille smiled at the crew. “Tony, thank you for volunteering to be a victim. Sam, please replace the extinguisher with a fresh one. I have just a few notes, so debrief at Security Office in ten minutes. Thank you all.”

-o-o-o-o-

When the lecture was over, Richard evaluated his condition. He hadn’t sicked up in hours. But he hadn’t eaten anything but toast. Camille had said it was good to “keep a little something” in his stomach. The tea was almost certainly cold by now. He decided to investigate.

Carefully, he got out of bed. Okay, standing was possible. He glanced out the window. The sky was overcast, and the wet balcony told him it had rained at some point. He put on his robe and went to the living room. Checking the tea tray, he found that the remaining tea had gone cold. Well, if he had to drink something cold, perhaps Camille’s suggestion of ginger ale might work. 

Bending down and searching through the fridge left Richard feeling a bit queasy, so he decided to take another bit of Camille’s advice. He walked to the glass doors that led to the balcony and looked out at the horizon. He willed himself to relax and let his gaze become unfocused. A few steadying breaths and he felt better. 

Richard poured some ginger ale and discovered packets of crackers on the plate of “remedies” Camille had provided. 

-o-o-o-o-

“So,” Camille concluded the meeting, “You did well. You got to the fire quickly and put it out. You found Tony before he died. And the medical staff responded well. Sam, have you updated the extinguisher log?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Then we’re done. Thank you for your time.”

Chief Patterson sat in on the meeting, but had not participated. After the emergency team left, he complimented Camille on her handling of the drill. 

“Good job, Camille. You can’t train enough. It’s too bad Inspector Poole couldn’t have observed. It’s always useful to have a new perspective on your procedures. Perhaps we can do another drill later in the voyage.”

“Sir, he’s a police detective, not a firefighter or EMT.”

“Nevertheless, it could be useful. So schedule something after you’ve finished the Edgerton investigation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And have you checked on Inspector Poole lately?”

Camille did not want to accuse her boss of being sexist, but she was willing to bet that if she’d been male, he would not have expected her to be so nurturing. It was only a bit of seasickness, after all.

“Not since late morning.”

“Then check on him again, please.”

Camille held back a sigh. “Yes, sir.”

-o-o-o-o-

When Camille arrived at Richard’s suite, she found a Room Service Waiter at his door. Richard opened the door, and Camille followed the waiter inside.

“You’re looking a bit better,” she said after the waiter left.

“I thought I might try to eat something.”

Camille lifted the cover and said, “Chicken sandwich seems suitably bland.”

“I managed to keep the crackers down. Thank you for the stash of remedies, by the way.”

“I’m glad it helped. Do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then go ahead and eat your lunch. I should get back to work.”

“Speaking of work, did Edgerton’s office ever send that list?”

“No. I’ll send another request.”

“Good. Point out that they are holding up our progress. We really have no other leads, unless you’ve thought of something?”

“No. I think the list is our next best step.” Camille walked to the door and added, “I’ll send the reminder right away. I hope your lunch is good.”

Lunch was surprisingly good. Not that it was a challenge to make a chicken sandwich. Richard ate slowly while he watched another classic film. Audrey Hepburn and Gary Cooper. Goodness, that was quite an age difference. In real life, men that much older didn’t usually get the girl. Especially if they weren’t wealthy and/or incredibly handsome. 

By the time the film was over, it was late afternoon and Richard was surprised to see that he had eaten the whole sandwich. He’d eaten most of the “fries,” too, despite the fact that they were skinny things, not proper chips. Of course, he thought. They would be _French_ fries, wouldn’t they? This was a French ship.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille checked her email and sighed. Still nothing from Edgerton’s office. Patterson appeared out of nowhere just as she closed her email and shoved the mouse out of the way on her desk. 

“Problem, Camille?”

“Yes. We still haven’t received any information about complaint calls or letters that Edgerton received. We can’t do much without it.”

Patterson looked at his watch and said, “There is still time today for me make a call or two. You know that I have faith in you, and if you had other ideas to go on, I’d leave things for another day. But I think a follow up from your boss will get a response.”

Camille watched him walk into his office. For all that he could be annoying—like saddling her with Inspector Poole—he could also be supportive and choose just the right moment to throw his weight around. She hoped it worked, or she and the Inspector wouldn’t have much to do tomorrow.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When Richard woke from his nap, he felt better. He walked to the balcony door and tried to go outside, but the wind was still strong, and he couldn’t open the door very wide. He closed it, realizing that if he could get outside, there was a chance he’d be unable to open the door and get back inside. But the bit of fresh air was welcome. 

He contemplated dinner, but the thought of putting on a suit made him tired. And if it was another formal night, the thought of assembling the dinner suit was more than he could bear. Perhaps another snack from room service, he thought.

-o-o-o-o-

By late evening, the wind and waves were much calmer. Richard had spent so much time napping, he couldn’t sleep any more. He’d been in the suite for about 24 hours, and he was restless. He checked the daily programme and discovered that it was, in fact, a formal night. But surely, if all he wanted to do was stretch his legs, he could manage with less formal clothing?

So he dressed in a shirt and the khakis Camille had made him buy. Yes, he thought, he was ready for a walk. He wandered around the stateroom areas, and eventually made his way down to the top level of the atrium. The shops were all closed, and it was quiet. He could hear music drift up from the bar at the bottom level. Was that Haute Fidélité playing?

Then he heard a woman’s voice, rich and warm.

> Some day, my happy arms will hold you,  
> And some day I’ll know that moment divine  
> When all the things you are  
> Are mine.

Richard walked down to the next level, so that he could see into the Wave Lounge. Yes, Haute Fidélité were playing. He could see Fidel seated at the piano. And was that—yes! That was Camille, leaning with her hand on his shoulder as she whispered in his ear. What was she doing singing with a band? It was late, so perhaps this was an after-hours session just for their own amusement? Or were they a couple?

Richard felt odd about watching them together, so he continued on his walk.

-o-o-o-o-

“I thought you were going to come in here,” Fidel pointed to the music.

Camille rested her hand on Fidel’s shoulder as she leaned forward and pointed to the next line down. “No, this is better. The first part is all _you._ ‘You are the promised kiss of springtime, you are the breathless hush, you are the angel glow,’ and so on. But then it changes to _my_ and _I._ ‘My happy arms, I’ll know.’ That change in the lyric makes this the better place to come in.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Fidel nodded, then turned to the few passengers still sitting in the lounge. “Thank you for staying for our extended session of Midnight Mush with guest singer Camille. I hope you enjoyed listening to us work on some new tunes. See you tomorrow night!”

The musicians packed up their music and instruments. Kev and Jules closed the bar. Camille said goodnight and went back to her cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Camille sings is "All the Things You Are"


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning, Richard was pleased to wake to calmer seas. He sat up in bed, and the room did not spin around. Light peeked in past the edge of the drapes, enticing him to look out. The view was like something out of a glossy brochure. Deep blue sea, lighter blue sky, a few puffy white clouds, and sunlight glinting off the waves. He put on his robe and went out on the balcony.

He got it. All of a sudden, he completely understood the lure of cruising. If there could be more days like this than like yesterday, it would be a fantastic way to spend a holiday. Of course, if he were paying for it, the balcony would be a lot smaller. But just to stand at the railing and look at the sea… it was mesmerizing. 

-o-o-o-o-

Camille looked at her watch. He couldn’t still be sick. They didn’t have a lot to do today, but even so he shouldn’t be lingering in bed all day. She knocked. No answer. She knocked again,

“Inspector?”

No answer. She used her master key to open the door. She saw Richard standing on the balcony, hands on the railing, head thrown back to let the sunlight fall on his face. She smiled. Mornings like this, she knew exactly how he felt.

“Good morning,” Camille stepped onto the balcony. “Feeling better?”

“Yes. I’m… this…” he gestured to the view, unable to put his feelings into words.

For once, Camille’s razor-sharp wit took a back seat and she simply said, “Yeah, I know.”

They stood in silence, then Richard said, “I know people cruise for the food and the nightlife and all of that. But this. This is the best part.”

“They do say that a bad day at sea is better than a good day at the office.”

“And this _is_ your office. Which reminds me, what is the plan for today? Did the list—”

“Shh!” Camille put her fingers to her lips and nodded her head toward the door.

Once inside, she said, “Voices carry. You never know who can hear you.”

“Ah, good point. Did Edgerton’s office send the list?”

“Not as of this morning. Patterson will keep reminding them.”

“That should be our next step. Meanwhile, I suppose we could do some background digging. How is the internet connection at sea?”

“Slow. It works, but if you’re used to a land-based system, the satellite can be annoying. I have some of my regular duties this morning, so I suggest you have breakfast, then go down to our offices and get online there. I’ll see you later.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard spent hours online and found nothing of use. Edgerton was squeaky clean as far as he could tell. He emailed his superintendent in Croyden with a list of additional items to be researched.

Camille stood in the doorway to the security office and sighed. Richard was wearing his suit. 

“Really, Inspector, the suit is not necessary. You should wear something more casual.

“But I’m on duty.”

“Yes, but you aren’t in London. Haven’t you noticed what we’re wearing? Short sleeves. No jackets, no ties.”

“But you’re wearing uniforms.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“It makes you look official.”

“And that’s what the suit is for?”

“Yes. We all wear suits. It’s what detectives are supposed to look like.”

“Not here, especially when you’re working behind the scenes. At least put on casual pants.”

“What difference do my pants make?”

“Those are dress pants.”

“These are not pants, Camille. These are trousers.”

“Same thing.”

“No, pants are underwear.”

“Whatever,” Camille huffed. “My point is that you can wear casual _trousers_ and a short-sleeved shirt. There is no need to be uncomfortable. And in case you haven’t noticed, you’re the ONLY man on board walking around in a suit.”

Camille picked up the suit jacket from the back of the chair Richard had been sitting in.

“Hey!” Richard reached for the jacket, but Camille pulled it out of reach.

“You may have it back after you change into casual pants.”

“Trousers.”

Camille turned and walked out of the office. The two had been so focused on their argument that they hadn’t noticed the amused looks on their colleagues’ faces. 

“Damn,” said Charlie after they’d left. “Those two are so much fun to watch.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard emerged from the bedroom and demanded his suit jacket. Camille looked him over and nodded, relinquishing the jacket. Once the clothing issue was taken care of, Camille asked Richard about his research.

“Nothing useful. I’ve left my notes in the office. You may take a look if you like, but I can tell you that I found nothing that can give us any leads. We need that list from Edgerton’s office.”

“Patterson is working on that. Let’s have lunch and then we can stroll around Promenade Deck and see if we get any ideas about timing and positions.”

-o-o-o-o-

“Have you tried the buffet yet?” Camille asked.

“No. I prefer to have a menu and order exactly what I want. I had my fill of lunch lines at school.”

“You can choose what to have here. No lunch lady is going to plop huge portions of things you don’t want on your plate. A lot of it is self-serve, and where it is served, you ask for exactly what you want. Look,” she said as she pointed to the various stations. “There’s a salad bar, sandwich station, hot food there, and farther along there’s an Asian station and also pizza. Desserts and ice cream are just around the corner. And there are burgers and frites by the pool.”

“That’s a lot of food.”

“Well, obviously, you aren’t going to eat everything. Some people try, but if you’re smart you can do good portion control. I like it because I can make a big salad for a nice healthy lunch. I don’t even look at the hot food. I don’t walk by the burger bar. If I don’t see it, I don’t want it. Easy. So look around, decide what you want, and I’ll meet you at a table by the window over there.”

Camille went to the salad bar while Richard investigated the sandwich station. When Richard had his sandwich, he found Camille already sitting at a table.

“Healthy lunch?” he asked. “I’m sure there are plenty of calories in all that dressing. And those chunks of cheese are probably full-fat, not skinny, and—”

“Lettuce is skinny. So are cucumber and peppers and broccoli.”

“That is the fallacy of eating salads. People think salads are low in calories and fats, but they don’t consider all the extra bits they add.”

“Mmm hmm, like the butter on your sandwich.” Camille looked closely at Richard’s lunch. “The salt in the ham and on the crisps. And the cheese on your sandwich is probably full-fat, too.”

“I never said _I_ was having a spa lunch.”

Camille huffed and stood. “I need to get something to drink.”

Richard thought she was heading for the bar, but instead she went to the soft drinks station. She returned with a glass of amber liquid with a piece of lemon floating in it.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Iced tea.”

“Sacrilege! Tea is meant to be drunk hot.”

“It’s refreshing.”

Richard made grumbling noises and tucked into his sandwich. Camille crunched happily on her salad. Richard looked around to see what other passengers were eating. At a nearby table, he saw something that made him go absolutely still.

“What’s wrong?” Camille asked. “Do you feel ill?”

“I think… is that…?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Over your right shoulder, the woman in yellow. Is that bread-and-butter pudding?”

“Hmm?” Camille looked at the dish in front of the woman. “Yes, pudding de pain rassis. Stale bread pudding.”

“Where can I get some?”

“You haven’t finished your sandwich.”

“Where is the pudding?”

Camille tried to think of something she could ask in trade for this information, as she had used his jacket to make him change clothes. But nothing came to mind, so she relented.

“It’s behind the dessert counter in a warming tray. You have to ask for it. And don’t worry that they will run out. They make huge amounts of it.”

As soon as Richard finished his sandwich, he went straight to the dessert station. He returned to the table with a bowl full of warm bread-and-butter pudding smothered in custard sauce. Camille watched in amusement as he took his first taste, eyes closed, savoring the treat.

He swallowed and said, “Ohhh, this is excellent. Almost as good as Gran’s.”

“It’s just stale bread pudding.”

“It’s comfort food for me. When I would go to my grandparents’ house on school holidays, Gran would make this for me. The stuff at school was thin and milky. This is like Gran’s, lots of egg and cream, and generous with the raisins.”

Camille used her spoon to steal a bit of the sauce. “Not bad. Maman puts brandy in the custard sauce when she makes it.”

Richard pulled the bowl closer and glared at Camille. She set down her spoon and waited for him to finish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just back from a cruise, and it inspired me to return to this story. Cruise buffets are famous (infamous?) for people pigging out, and some do. But like Camille, I find I can ignore the hot food and go for lots of fruit and salads. OK, so I did hit the burger bar one time. And some chips and guacamole from the taco bar go really well with a salad. But the crunchy greens are under there somewhere!
> 
> I never liked bread pudding until I had the sinfully rich bread pudding at the lunch buffet on Holland America. Now I'm addicted!


	15. Chapter 15

Citing Richard’s rich pudding and her salad dressing, Camille said they should take the stairs down to Promenade Deck, rather than use the lift. They walked to the back of the ship and stood where the possible witness or suspect had stood, smoking. Camille pointed out the security cameras, and they worked out a way someone could walk forward without being picked up on the cameras along the side. 

They walked forward to the crew door that led to the steps where Edgerton had been found. Again, they looked around for sight lines to cameras. 

Richard frowned, “Nothing. This isn’t helping at all.”

“Let’s walk all the way around,” said Camille. “Maybe something will pop. And if nothing else, we can walk off lunch.”

They walked in silence for a while. Then Richard asked Camille why she gave up being a detective in Paris.

“A combination of reasons. It started with work. I finally got an undercover assignment, trying to catch a high-level drug dealer. Have you ever done undercover?”

“No. I’m a hopeless liar.”

“Are you saying I’m a liar?”

“That isn’t what I meant. But you have to be able to stay in character and think on your feet. I’m too deliberate. Plodding. You have a quick mind, and that’s essential to the job.”

Camille nodded, “You’re right about thinking on your feet. You live or die on gut instinct. It’s completely different from regular detective work with protocols and paperwork. You study your character and you have a basic plan, but that’s really only a starting point. You have to react to events as they occur and figure out what to do quickly. There’s a sort of independence because you have no time to confer, you just keep going. I loved it.”

“Did you get the dealer?”

“No. He was murdered by a rival before I could get enough evidence on him. Of course, he wasn’t killed by the rival himself, but by one of the rival’s crew. I might have been able to stay on and go after the rival, but before I could get away everyone got arrested. When they checked my fingerprints, some idiot referred to me as Inspector Bordey and my cover was blown. Then it was back to the routine. Go to the station every day, wear suits instead of jeans and t-shirts. Confining.”

“But you still were a detective. Didn’t you find that interesting?”

“Some cases were interesting. But not as exciting as being undercover. I didn’t love my job anymore.”

“So you quit?”

“No. I promised myself I’d look at other options after six months. I owed it to the force to give it that much time. It didn’t get better, but I minded less because of Marc. I met him at a party and we started going out together. Sometimes it’s like that, you know? Work is bearable if your personal life is good.”

Richard nodded, thinking that for him, work was his way of making up for very little in his personal life.

“We were together for more than a year. Marc seemed to be excited about something, like he had a special secret. With Christmas coming, I thought he was planning to propose. Instead, on Christmas Eve he told me he had found someone else and they were going away for the holiday.”

“Ouch. And you had no idea?”

“None at all. Some detective I was.” Camille laughed ruefully.

“It’s easy to see what you want to see,” said Richard, remembering times he’d been blindsided by a breakup.

“I was devastated. I called my parents and told them I was coming down with flu and would spend Christmas at our flat. I did the usual things women do when they’re dumped. I cried. I drank. I considered ways to kill him. Homicide detectives know a lot about murder, and I think I could kill someone without leaving clues. But there was such an obvious motive that I knew it wouldn’t work. Most of his clothes were still there. I considered burning them or throwing them out the window into the street. If I’d known where to get itching powder I’d have poured it on his underwear. 

“I wasted time imagining that Marc would get tired of his fling and come back to me. I thought about whether I would take him back and what I’d say. Then a friend phoned to say she saw his engagement announcement in the newspaper. I called in sick and skipped work for a few days while I figured out what to do. Although we’d shared the rent, the flat was in his name, so I knew I’d have to move. I found somewhere to live, a small flat. I wanted to downsize, so I took a minimum of furniture. 

“I was tempted to trash the flat so that he’d have to pay a lot to fix it up again. But in the end, I couldn’t do that. So I decided that I would take every dish and glass and smash it. I even stood on a chair so that the smashing would be big. After a few plates, I was surprised at how little satisfaction I got from that. So I just left everything.”

“Did you work with him? Is that why you quit?”

“No. A few weeks after that, the promotion list came out. I’d done well on the test, but there were very few positions open and I didn’t get one. The combination of the breakup and another disappointment at work… I felt the need to make changes in my life. Did you ever feel like you wanted to run away from everything?”

Richard nodded. “My first term at boarding school. I wanted to join a circus.”

Camille smiled, “Well, this is my version of running away to join the circus. My career was stalled, I had no boyfriend, I felt… worthless. There was a story on the news about a man who went missing from a cruise ship. Ship’s security was mentioned, and I thought, yes! There’s an interesting job. I applied and was accepted. I like it. It isn’t as demanding as being a detective, but it’s good. Patterson is a good boss, and I have colleagues I like.”

“And now you’ve got Fidel,” said Richard.

“What?”

“You and Fidel, or is that supposed to be quiet? Are you allowed to have a relationship with another crew member?”

“Yes, as long as it’s discrete. Wait. You think Fidel and I…?” Camille raised her eyebrows

“Well, the way he said _later_ the other night was suggestive.”

“He was just joking. Remember the waitress in that lounge? That’s Jules, his girlfriend. Although... you’ve given me an idea. Maybe I’ll suggest a ménage à trois. Could be fun.”

Seeing Richard’s shocked look, Camille laughed, “I was just winding you up. Really, you are too easy!”


	16. Chapter 16

Richard woke shortly after sunrise. He had left the drapes open so that the sun would wake him. He wanted to get out on deck as early as possible. He put on the shorts and t-shirt from the crew shop and the borrowed trainers and went down to Promenade Deck. A few other runners were already out, and he could see that they were all going anticlockwise. He leaned on the railing and stretched, then walked halfway around to loosen up. Then he began to run. 

Richard did not enjoy exercise. The thought of going to a gym made him shudder with memories of school bullies. The tallest and strongest boys tended to pick on the smaller ones. Richard wasn’t the smallest in his class, nor the tallest, probably somewhere around the middle. He wasn’t scrawny or weak, but he wasn’t physically aggressive and that was seen as a weakness to be exploited. 

Richard did not view running as exercise. Running was an excuse to be alone, to let the thudding of his feet drive out worries. Running let him escape his troubles. In school, he usually focused on his pace, his rate of breathing, the pounding of his pulse. If he had something to memorize, he’d recite it as he ran. In Croyden, he loved running through the park that had once been an airport. Sometimes he’d think about the kinds of planes that flew out of the airport during the 1930s and 40s in the days before jumbo jets and security checkpoints. He would stand on the remaining bit of tarmac and wonder what it was like to be a pilot about to roll down the runway and take off. 

Richard didn’t think about cases while he ran, yet somehow bits and pieces tumbled around in his mind and he often thought of new approaches to a case after a good run. He’d be walking home or showering and an idea would simply pop into his head. No matter what happened in his life, he felt he would never need a psychiatrist if he could simply get out and run.

So this morning he was running to work out the frustration of not making progress. And also to atone for another large dinner. He made a mental note to look in the shops. Camille had mentioned that the cruise line sold cookbooks with recipes for meals served on board. His mum would enjoy one of those. 

As he ran, he thought about Camille. He understood better why they clashed so much. The autonomy of undercover work made her resistant to taking orders. And he had been so condescending, assuming that a ship security officer was the equivalent of a mall cop. He understood her frustration at not being promoted. He’d passed all the tests, too. But so far he hadn’t been promoted to DCI. His gov had said it was largely because Richard didn’t work well with others, and a DCI had to be a good team leader. But how could be a good leader when Anderson and his crowd undermined him at every step? It almost made him want to run away to sea, too.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille stepped on deck and took a deep breath. It was promising to be a beautiful day. She wasn’t a morning person by nature, but shifts started early at sea, and she’d found that a morning run was a good way to wake up. She began to run slowly, watching the runners ahead of her. One was moving much faster than the others, She wondered how many laps he would do before burning out. 

The speed demon passed a man who was running steadily. This one had a nice stride, steady and smooth. Camille liked to find a steady runner to follow. It helped her keep an even pace. He appeared to be wearing crew clothing, but she didn’t recognize him. She lost sight of him when he made the turn at the stern, and she didn’t see him again until they were both on the starboard side. Definitely an experienced runner. She increased her speed to get a better look at him. 

The speed demon passed Camille and the steady runner. Then, bam! He collided with a runner going the wrong way. Speed Demon began to shout at Wrong Way. Steady Runner stepped in to try to defuse the situation. Camille ran over to the group. As she got closer, she recognized Wrong Way. It was Father Collins.

“You idiot!” Speed Demon shouted, poking Father Collins in the chest. “You could have hurt me. Can’t you read the damn signs?”

“That’s enough,” said Steady Runner. Camille looked at him in surprise. Steady Runner was Richard.

“And who the hell are you?” Speed Demon demanded.

“We’re ship’s security,” said Camille. “Are you injured?”

“No, but this—”

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” said Camille. “I suggest you finish your run.”

Speed Demon glared at her.

“Now,” said Richard in his best cop voice. Speed Demon started to say something, then changed his mind and ran off.

“Father Collins,” said Camille. “How many times have I told you that you need to run in the same direction as the others? See the arrow? Go that way.”

“Yes, Miss Bordey, I will try. I didn’t see you at Mass on Sunday morning.”

“No, I had to work.”

“Ah, well, I say mass every morning, you know.” Father Collins smiled and plodded along the deck.

“Is that the ship’s clergyman?” Richard asked Camille.

“Yes,” she sighed. “He isn’t staff. An agency places clergy, much like the agency that places lecturers. We’ve got Father Collins for two more weeks.”

They began to run side by side. Richard asked, “And were you _really_ working on Sunday morning?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Wow, you can lie to a priest. All that undercover work paid off, eh?”

“He isn’t hard to lie to. A nun… now that would be difficult. They know everything. The veil gives them superpowers.”

Richard shuddered, “I know! Our housemother at school was a nun. An absolute tyrant.”

“Is that why you wanted to run away and join the circus?”

“Partly.”

Sensing that Richard didn’t want to talk about it, Camille ran in silence for a while. After another lap, she asked, “How often do you run?”

“At home, at least three times a week, weather permitting. I hate gyms, all those body-building types, sneering at people who can’t lift three times their own weight. Running keeps me in shape and shakes out the cobwebs. And it’s something I can do on my own. You know, not like needing to get a team together or something like that.”

They finished their run and agreed to meet for breakfast in the Officer’s Mess.

-o-o-o-o-

Breakfast in the Mess was pleasant. When Richard arrived, Camille pointed out the fruits, juices, cereals, and breads on a counter to the side. She gestured to a table, and he joined Charlie and the Third Officer at a table. Camille sat down with a glass of orange juice and a croissant. She took a bite of the croissant and smiled.

“We have the best bakery,” she said. “This is like Paris on a plate.”

Richard wanted to ask why anyone would want a city on a plate, but the arrival of a waiter interrupted that thought. The waiter set down a large carafe of coffee and took their orders. Richard was in the midst of explaining the proper way to make tea when a second waiter arrived with a teapot. 

Camille smirked as Richard thanked both waiters.

The Third Officer smiled and said, “Second officer Ryan is Irish, Inspector. One of her first tasks here was making certain that the Mess served proper tea.”

“I must thank her,” said Richard after taking a sip. “This is perfect.”

As they ate and chatted, Richard thought about the working atmosphere on the ship. So different from Croyden, where there was the division between “the guys” and the people “the guys” picked on. Here, officers and crew genuinely respected each other. Although he wasn’t a member of the crew, he felt accepted. Even Camille, who had resented him at first, was now treating him more like a colleague than an interloper.

-o-o-o-o-

“Good morning, Inspector. Good morning, Camille,” said Patterson as they entered the security office. “I have good news. Edgerton’s office sent the list of complaints. I have forwarded it to both of you along with the passenger list. The bad news is that we don’t have software to compare the two lists. I’m afraid you’ll have to read one list against the other.”

“I suppose we should split the task,” said Richard. “I’ll start with the A’s and work down and you can start with the Zeds and work up.”

“This sounds like a recipe for a headache,” said Camille. “Let’s load one list on my laptop and one on yours, then we can take turns reading the lists.”

“Aloud?”

“Yes. It’s easier than having to look back and forth between two documents. And we’d be less likely to miss something.”

“We’ll disturb people,” said Richard, gesturing around the office. 

“Then let’s use your suite. Nobody will bother us and we won’t bother anyone.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard looked around the living room of the suite.

“Oh. There’s only one desk.”

“I’ll sit on the sofa, no problem,” said Camille. “I’m calling room service. This job calls for a huge pot of coffee. Do you want tea?”

“I’ll drink coffee.”

“Are you sure? Won’t they take away your citizenship or something?”

“No. Coffee is a perfectly fine mid-morning drink. Ask for cream, please.”

Once they had laptops on and coffee poured, they were ready to begin. Camille slipped off her shoes, piled the throw pillows at one end of the sofa, and reclined with her computer on her lap. Richard sat on the desk chair with his computer on the desk. Paper and pen sat next to the computer so he could make notes.

“Right, we need a plan,” said Richard.

“You read the list from Edgerton and I’ll tell you if there’s a match on the passenger list.”

“Okay. Able, Abbott, Adams, Arthur—”

“Arthur!” Camille called out.

“It’s a common name. Mine is from Bournemouth.”

“Bradford.”

“No. But I should mark it just in case.” Richard frowned at the screen. “Hmm, how should I do this? Highlight, that’s it. Yellow for unlikely connection and red for a likely connection. Okay, moving on. Baker, Batsen, Bayer, Cable, Carr, Carver, Cavill, Chase, Cheddington, Cleary…”

By the time they were up to the G’s, they had found four unlikely connections. Suddenly, Camille called out, “Coffee!”

“What?” Richard scrolled through the document. “There’s nobody by that name on my list.”

“No. Coffee as in something to drink. Room service is knocking.” Camille opened the door and a waiter set a tray on the coffee table. As she poured the coffee, Camille said, “This was the part of detective work I disliked. The drudgery.”

“Details are important, Camille. Ah, thank you.” Richard accepted the coffee and took a sip. “Ready? Gardiner, Geary, Goren, Grover, Gunston…”

Lyons turned out to be another unlikely match, and Camille took a break to refresh their coffees. She set Richard’s cup on the desk and stretched.

“Don’t you need to take a break? Stand up, stretch?”

“No.” Richard watched Camille stretch. “Your back wouldn’t bother you if you didn’t slouch on the sofa like that.”

Camille sighed and rolled her eyes. Richard sat ramrod straight at the desk. Did the man ever relax? At least he wasn’t wearing his suit again. She supposed that was as relaxed a he got.

“Come on,” he said. “We’re halfway through.

By the time they finished, they had eight unlikely connections and three likely connections. Richard saved the changes he’d made in his document and began to type.

“So what do we do with the three likelies?” asked Camille.

“I’m sending their info back to my station. The gov did say I could use their resources if I needed to. They can check police records and other sites much faster than I can.” Richard clicked _send._ “I suppose now we wait for them to get back to me.”

“Take the afternoon off,” said Camille. “I have things to do, regular duties. So I’ll go back to the office and see you later. It’s formal night again, remember.”


End file.
